Fail-Safe
by Haleine Delail
Summary: UNIT has entrusted Martha Jones with a powerful weapon, because she is best-equipped to know when to detonate it. But, if ever the time comes, she must do so without the Doctor's knowledge, or all could be lost. She agrees to these conditions, but can she keep that promise, given what's on the horizon?
1. Chapter 1

**Here we go again. I just can't seem to let go.**

 **So, Martha Jones and the Doctor are at it again, and I won't lie to you: this is 50% ship fic, and 50% action/sci-fi/suspense or whatever you want to call it. At least as it is conceived at the moment. There will be squishy shippy moments, and there will be plenty of UNIT officers traipsing about where they shouldn't, people in peril, etc.**

 **In any case, I hope this first chapter hooks you. And one more thing... wait for it...**

 **Leave a review!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

ONE

Every morning before her shower, Martha Jones slipped off her engagement ring and set it in a crystal ash tray that had been her grandfather's. She would, mostly involuntarily, contemplate her fiancé who was currently in the jungle, trying to help Ugandan refugees' children in the Congo. She would smile wistfully and wonder just what he was up to at this moment. Then, she would step into the shower for a few minutes, step out again cleansed, return to the night stand and slip the ring back on. She would make sure it had returned to the third finger of her left hand before she even unwrapped her hair from the towel, or put on her fuzzy seafoam green slippers.

Today was no different, except that she took a little extra time in the shower. She had to pay extra attention to waking up. She massaged her scalp more than usual, and frankly turned the water temperature down just a bit, to keep herself from getting too cosy in the steam. She was more than just a tad sleep-deprived, after the run she'd just had. She had wanted to lie down and crash the night before, but her thoughts had been racing, and she hadn't been able to get settled.

Yesterday, she had used her new mobile phone to ring her old mobile phone, and summon the Doctor out of who-knows-where. He had come when called, of course. He and his new Companion, Donna, (she tried not to think of Donna as _her replacement_ ) had joined her and the rest of the special squad with UNIT at the ATMOS distribution plant, and had discovered Sontarans working against them. The potato-shaped aliens were basically trying to choke the Earth with poisonous gas, so that they could use the planet as their cloning base.

And then, for some "timey wimey" reason that she did not understand, while she was inside the TARDIS saying her goodbyes, the vessel had locked them all in and taken them to a planet called Messaline, sometime in the future. Apparently, it was all to do with a pretty blonde who was eventually nicknamed "Jenny," and had sprung from a machine that grew her out of the Doctor's skin cells. With all of the crazy things she had seen with the Doctor, _that_ had been one of the strangest and most disturbing. And that was quite apart from the blonde herself calling the Doctor "dad."

For her part, Martha spent most of their time on Messaline separated from the Doctor, Donna and Jenny, trying to find her way back to them over the treacherous, windblown surface of the desert they were in. She had befriended a native Hath, and then watched him die as he tried to rescue her from a quicksand-like pool of something. The experience had hit her harder than she would have thought.

Both adventures had seen a lot of death of innocents, a lot of senseless fighting, a lot of aliens being strangely drawn to Martha, and a lot of the Doctor having to take the bull by the horns, in order to get anything accomplished. After two days back in the Doctor's world, she was ready to come home and continue waiting for her fiancé, and keep plugging along at her job with UNIT. She was done with all that. She was exhausted. She was emotionally drained. She was ready for a new day to come.

So why hadn't she been able to sleep?

Because, damn it, the Doctor still had _that power_ over her. She had walked away from him because of it, had got engaged to a very nice man, even, and yet…

She had tossed and turned, angry with herself for dwelling on it, but unable to shake it off. He had looked _amazing_ in that blue suit. He was styling his hair a bit differently these days and she liked it. He had made her heart flutter with his cleverness and self-sacrifice, and the fact that he rescued her from the cloning source support system, and gave her his coat to wear. And had she, or had she not, seen a distinct flicker of jealousy when she'd flashed her engagement ring? Or was he just experiencing a narcissistic deflation because it appeared that she was no longer hung up on him?

After two years of feeling restless and unfulfilled over the Doctor, deciding _enough is enough,_ and nine months of getting on with life, she was back in that place. Once again, she had found that she couldn't get the bloody Doctor off her mind, and it was keeping her awake at night.

And so, in the shower, groggy, slow, surely on a path that would lead to being late for work, she cursed him. Him, and that hair, and those eyes and that tight suit (which _had_ to be a ploy, it just had to! How could he _not_ be doing it on purpose, when he put that suit on every day?) She shut off the water, wrapped herself in a towel and went about her routine like a zombie.

But when she finally walked out the front door, twenty-two minutes later than usual, her ring still lay in the ash tray on her night stand.

* * *

With the dread of post-Sontaran paperwork pervading her every pore, she threw open the door of the secret entrance to UNIT, and placed her left hand on the print pad for verification.

"Shit," she sighed, noticing, at last, the absence of her engagement ring. She clenched her teeth and shook her head; she knew it was no coincidence that she was harbouring the Doctor in her brain today, and had forgotten to don that most palpable of reminders that she was supposed to marry someone else. She could tell herself that it was because she'd been tired and off-her-game today, but… why was that exactly? Who was she really kidding?

"Martha Jones, M.D.," a robotic voice said as a green ring of light surrounded and scanned her hand. "Entering secure facilities at eight twenty-two, Greenwich Mean Time. Good morning, Dr. Jones. You have one new message from Colonel Mace."

Her work station was a standard clinical exam room with an adjustable exam table covered with a long sheet of butcher paper. There were two chairs and a counter along one wall with a computer, a phone, a sink, and a few of Martha's personal effects. In the cupboards below the counter was where medical instruments were stored, mostly meant for evaluating human beings, but a few of them meant for examining sentient creatures, not of this Earth.

Her plan was to set down her rucksack, then go find a cup of coffee in the central work room, then see if the sound-proof computer centre was available today, as she did not feel like sitting on her round, rolly stool to write her report on the Doctor and the Sontarans. But first, she checked her voice mail as she knew there was something new from the Colonel.

"Dr. Jones, it's Mace. When you arrive today, please come see me in my office. It's about the Doctor."

She sighed. What had happened now? she wondered. She went through the semi-hidden door at the back of the exam room, turned right and found the central work room just a few doors down a narrow corridor. She extracted a mug from the above cabinet, and poured herself a cup of surprisingly fresh coffee. She took a few sips before stepping out through a different door into one of the main hallways, and taking another right to find Colonel Mace's office.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" she said, walking in without knocking.

"Yes, indeed, Dr. Jones," he said, looking up from his laptop. "Please have a seat."

She did. She gave him time to finish whatever he was doing, and true to his efficient, polite form, he did not make her wait long.

"Right then," he said. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem. What's up? You said it was about the Doctor?"

"Yes," he said. He turned to his right and opened his desk drawer. When he turned back toward her, he was holding a rectangular object, about the dimensions of two Rubik's cubes stacked on top of one another. It was gold, and had familiar designs carved on it. He set it on the desk away from himself, but right in front of Martha. "Do you know what that is?" he asked.

"I recognize the patterns," she said. "It's Gallifreyan lettering."

"It is," he confirmed. "Though none of us has any idea of what it says. I don't suppose you would."

"No, sorry."

"Well, no matter," he dismissed. Then he took a deep breath and rested his forearms on the desk, leaning on them to talk to her. "Dr. Jones, this box was entrusted to us by the Doctor in the 1970's."

"Really?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"At the time, he was in his third incarnation, I believe, and he was working for us almost full-time."

"Right, because he was banished to Earth."

"Yes. Initially when we received it, we put it into the care of Miss Jo Grant, a UNIT operative who worked closely with the Doctor, and travelled with him on occasion."

"Yeah, I know who she is."

"Well, UNIT thought she would be the best person to look after the item. When Miss Grant left UNIT, it was passed to Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart."

"Didn't I hear you say that he's in Peru?"

"Precisely why it was doing no good sitting on the mantelpiece in his parlour at home," said the Colonel. "And anyhow, you've a closer relationship with the Doctor than the Brigadier has these days. When I phoned him last night, he said he wanted it passed to his daughter, but when I explained who you were, how you came by your position, and your history with the Doctor, well… he agreed. It is now in your care."

She frowned. "Well what the hell is it?"

"It's called the Eustarus… the Doctor named it that. It's a Gallifreyan word that means, roughly, fail-safe."

"Okay," she said, waiting for more info.

The Colonel took a deep breath and began to explain. "In 1973, the Doctor ran afoul of another Time Lord called Omega. That's thirty-five years ago. To us, that is. On the Doctor's timeline… well. As I said, he was in his second regeneration at the time – his third body. The Doctor that you know, well, I believe, is in his…"

"Tenth," she finished.

"Yes. So centuries have likely gone by. Anyhow, Omega was a Time Lord – and from what I understand, a really chuffing clever one, at that. He is – or was, for a time – revered almost as a god, along with another Time Lord called Rassilon. The two of them conducted experiments in time travel that really helped to push forward Gallifreyan technology. They were pioneers."

"I'm sensing there's a _but_."

"Indeed. Omega's cleverness overwhelmed him in the end. He had forged a device that could control the physical reaction inside of a star, and he thought he could harness it to power his time experiments. But his tampering caused a supernova, and he was pulled into it, and presumed dead. That is, until the Doctor found him alive in an anti-matter universe."

"An _anti-matter_ universe? Did I just hear that correctly?"

"You did. How much do you know about physics and astrophysics?"

"A bit."

"Well," Mace said, actually chuckling. "Then you're one up on me – I don't understand a bloody thing about it. Maybe someday you can explain it to me. Anyway, apparently, it's possible for a supernova to turn itself inside-out… to stop expanding, and then, in fact, contract in upon itself and become… well, essentially an anti-supernova."

"Also known as a black hole," Martha told him. Then she shook her head, as if to shake off a fog. "Wait, are you saying, he's trapped in a black hole?"

"Was," Mace answered. "But not exactly in a black hole. Apparently the pressure of the black hole's gravity was such that it pushed him through some kind of barrier into a different universe… one of anti-matter. And _that_ is where he was trapped, that is, until he touched the Doctor's flute."

"The Doctor's what?"

"The Doctor used to play this pipe-flute thing… I don't know what it's called. It was in one of his very early incarnations. Omega touched it, and, as it was the only thing around him made of matter, it destroyed the anti-matter universe. I don't know how it all happened, exactly – I just read the file last night, and the explanation… well, it wasn't written by a Time Lord. It's sketchy at best."

"So, Omega himself is destroyed."

"I believe so, yes."

"So what's the fail-safe thing all about, if Omega is destroyed?"

Colonel Mace took a moment, and his voice lowered by a few tones. "A Time Lord, as I'm sure you're aware, Dr. Jones, is a powerful being."

Her heart fluttered a bit, and she cursed herself internally. "Yes, I'm aware," she croaked, her mouth having gone dry. She cleared her throat then, and listened further.

"Not only have you spent a good deal of time with the Doctor, but I'm told you've also met the Master."

She chuckled. " _Met_ the Master. Right."

"Saved the world from him, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yeah," she whispered, pulling her hands into her lap and gazing at them. She had no wish to revisit anything about that time in her life.

"The planet owes you a debt of gratitude, Dr. Jones."

"Yeah, too bad it never happened."

"As long as there's UNIT, and there's the Doctor and your family, it happened. Our records show that the Doctor turned back time and erased…"

"Colonel Mace, I'd really appreciate it if you could tell me what any of this has to do with the gold box." She touched its top lightly, with her index finger.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, of course. As you know, the Doctor has never been a stranger to the idea of a rogue Time Lord. He's come face-to-face with the Master countless times. Omega was on a different scale altogether, and after that whole debacle, the Doctor was a bit shaken. He became terrified of his own nature, his own power and cleverness, his own potential for… well, evil."

"I see," Martha said, nodding sobrely.

"He devised the Eustarus, a fail-safe, in case he himself ever…"

"Went all Darth Vader?"

"Pardon me?"

"Turned to the Dark Side."

"Yes. And given the forces he meddles with on a daily basis, it would not be out of the realm of possibility."

"I suppose it wouldn't," Martha agreed, though she could not imagine a world in which the Doctor wasn't on her side.

"Of course, at the time, he'd never have guessed that at any point he'd be the Last of the Time Lords save for the Master. But even back then, he didn't feel he could trust them to put him back in line the way he felt he needed to be. He said the Time Lords were dogmatic and rigid on the whole…"

"Yeah, he's told me the same thing," Martha said. "He probably thought they'd try to reshape him in their image, rather than turn him back the way he was. Is."

"Or worse, try to use him for something in his, if you will, darkened state."

"Blimey."

"Apparently, they tried to do that with the Master once."

"Seriously?"

The Colonel nodded. Then he took a deep breath and mused, "What I can't work out is why in the world the Doctor never used a device like this on the Master."

"No," Martha said. "He'd never do that. It would be an empty victory to him. He'd want the Master to _decide_ to revert to the side of good, because he got hold of some vestiges of real good within himself."

"Well, whatever," said Mace, uncharacteristically. "Time Lords will be Time Lords."

Martha already knew that the Colonel disapproved of some of the Doctor's ways, in particular his peacekeeping ways. Needless to say, Martha found those ways rather beautiful, and Mace rather difficult at times.

"In any case," Mace continued. "Only humans, according to the file, could be trusted to help turn the Doctor back into the lovable scamp he really is, but he knew that humans would not have the means to do so. He knew that if he ever turned inside-out on himself, he'd do everything he could to stomp on any resources that Earth might possess that could possibly stop him. So he forged this."

"Couldn't he just come and take it, if he went bad?"

"He thinks it's in a vault inside the Tower of London," the Colonel said. "No-one ever told him that we sent it home with the Brigadier. We reckoned that if he ever went for it, it would give the Brig a head-start to activate it."

"I see. So I'm to take it home, and never let the Doctor know that I have it."

"Exactly. Are you comfortable with that?"

"I guess."

"Dr. Jones, I'm going to need an affirmative."

"It's fine. Yes. Affirmative" she said. "I'm comfortable with it." It was a slight lie – she was not entirely comfortable with it. But, she thought, it would be better than _someone else_ having it. What if the thing was dangerous?

"Good, I'm glad to hear it," Colonel Mace said, with a slight hint of a relieved smile.

"How does it work?" he asked.

"For that, you'll have to speak with our physics department," he said. "They're expecting you in an hour's time. Ask for Dr. Fortis, and he'll give you all of the details. Because I've no blooming idea. I've even read that section of the file, and I _still_ don't know."

* * *

Martha held the Eustarus in one hand, went through a thrice-reinforced door, and flashed her badge at the security guard. "Dr. Jones, here to see Dr. Fortis."

The guard grunted and nodded, and she walked past him. She knew that security was tight in the physics department of UNIT for good reason, and that the thugs in charge of keeping the place safe meant no disrespect. They were simply trained to be stony-faced and unflappable.

Dr. Fortis, on the other hand, was anything but stony-faced. "Dr. Jones!" he practically shouted as she walked into the gigantic laboratory space. He rushed at her and grabbed her hand to shake it vigourously. "It's such a pleasure to meet you!"

Dr. Fortis was lanky, rather unkempt with longish, wavy dark hair and glasses that sat crookedly on his face. She found him disarming, and smiled. "Likewise, Dr. Fortis."

"Please call me Lawrence," he said. "Or Larry if you like."

"Okay," she said, "Larry."

"Forgive me for being such a zealot. I'm just such a huge admirer of… well, the man we're here to discuss. What was it like working with him?" He stood just a hair too close to her, holding his arms folded tightly in anticipation of her answer.

"Erm… well…"

"I mean it must have been wonderful!"

"Wonderful, yes. But also…"

"Terrifying."

"Yeah," she chuckled. "Come up with any adjective you can think of, and I can almost guarantee that it perfectly describes the experience of _working with_ the Doctor, as you put it."

"Amazing?"

"Yes."

"Dizzying?"

"Yes."

"Explosive?"

"Yes, listen… can we just talk about the fail-safe? I actually have a long day ahead of me. That amazing, dizzying, explosive and occasionally terrifying man, and his Sontaran mates, have left me with quite a lot of paperwork to do."

"Of course," said Fortis, clearing his throat. "Follow me, please."

They walked across a relatively short span between the door and a long work table. The lab was the size of a gymnasium, and bustled with people in white coats. Some experiments occurred here, but, Martha knew, most of it was examination of alien technology and physical principles, and advanced mathematics calculating things like the mass of dimensional portals.

And, apparently, working out stuff that a Time Lord put in a box thirty-five years ago.

"So I assume that Colonel Mace explained to you where that little gem came from," Fortis said as they walked, gesturing to the gold box tucked under Martha's arm.

"He explained how and why UNIT came by it, and who made it, but not how it works," she told him. "And I would guess that if I'm supposed to take it with me, I'll need to learn what it does."

"And how to activate it."

"Right." Martha seriously doubted she would ever have to do that, but she resolved to learn as much about the Eustarus as she could. She didn't want some kind of ticking time-bomb just sitting on a shelf in her wardrobe.

He slid onto a stool and gestured for her to do the same, across from him at the work table. He pulled a pile of papers from its position on his left, and centred it in front of him. The bundle was labeled _The Doctor_ , and Fortis smiled sheepishly. "Part of his file."

" _Part of_ his file?" Martha asked, gaping. "Colonel Mace also mentioned _part_ of his file. How bloody big is the _whole_ file?"

"No-one knows," Fortis shrugged. "It's never all in one place at the same time, as there is no digital copy. Pieces of it are everywhere throughout UNIT. Everyone seems to need something on the Doctor at any given moment…"

"Why is there no digital copy?"

"Because then the Doctor himself could access it," said Fortis, winking at her.

He pulled a page that had been marked with a pink sticky note from the middle of the stack, and tried to open the rest of the file like a book so that nothing would be out-of-place. He pulled a pen from his breast pocket, and on the pink sticky note, he scrawled something, then handed it discreetly to Martha.

"This is the code phrase that activates the Eustarus," he said. "Memorise it, then burn that piece of paper."

"Gotcha."

"As you might have already surmised, the Eustarus is sentient, and can, in effect, _hear_ you."

"Oh, wonderful."

"Well, don't worry," he said. "We've examined the thing within an inch of its life, and you can trust me when I say that it's not listening all the time. Oh, we were mightily paranoid about it in the seventies and eighties… was it a surveillance device? What if it fell into the hands of the Russians?" Fortis laughed. "But it's not anything like that. Something about that phrase awakens a kind of _mind_ within the device."

"All right. Then what?"

"As we understand it, a button will appear at the top, and all you've got to do is press it."

"Simple as that?"

"Simple as that."

"What will it do to the Doctor?"

"Now, that's the not-so-simple part," Lawrence Fortis said, adjusting his glasses nervously. "Did Colonel Mace tell you that this whole thing was inspired by the Doctor's run-in with Omega?"

"Yes, he did."

"And did he explain who Omega was, and why and how the Doctor had to deal with him?"

"As much as he could, yes."

"Well, when he was conceiving the Eustarus, the Doctor used the principles of astrophysics – specifically, a parallel of what happened to Omega with the supernova and the black hole – to create a vortex, as it were, that will invert _concepts_ rather than matter."

Martha's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"I know," Fortis laughed again. "How's that possible, right? How can anyone be _that clever_ , right? But the Doctor is!"

"Yeah, I know that," she dismissed. "But, you're saying that this thing can, what? Grab hold of something intangible, like a concept…"

"Like the Doctor's thoughts, tendencies and behaviours…"

"…and catch them in a miniature supernova, collapse them into a black hole and push them through into antimatter?" She pointed at the gold box. "Are you saying that this little rectangle can perform an extreme miniature gravitational collapse, with the Doctor's evil ways inside?"

"Is that so unbelievable?"

Martha had no idea what to say.

"And that's not even the end of the story. After it does all of that, it essentially spits pieces of the Doctor's psyche back out again, to put it in touch with what the file calls _standard reality."_

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Just as Omega's touching of something made of matter confused the anti-matter universe enough to destroy itself, the Doctor's intangible 'parts' coming into contact with another person's intangible 'parts' will cause the Eustarus to be destroyed and the containment to fail. The Doctor is then free, essentially. Either he's reverted or he's not."

"So one would better bloody well hope that someone is nearby that the Doctor's psyche, or whatever you just called it, can hold onto, otherwise, the miniature astro-reaction dissipates, its gravity fails, _by design,_ and the Doctor is still evil."

"Yep. You have a magnificent sixth sense for these things, it seems."

"So this is why you need _me_ , or Jo Grant, or the Brigadier."

"One of the reasons, yes. And that was clever on our parts; I don't think even the Doctor himself anticipated that little tidbit. He designed it just to latch onto whomever, but upon inspection, some of my UNIT predecessors determined that having a familiar 'soul' nearby would help the process to be more complete."

Martha shook her head. "This is madness. It's just… madness."

Fortis shrugged. "Yes, and no. Omega worked out how to remotely control the physical reaction inside of a star. And if you ask me, the Doctor is every bit as clever."

Martha looked at the box, her eyes as wide as saucers. "And, wherever he is in the universe, this thing can find him?"

"If this file is to be believed, yes," said the physicist. "The Doctor forged it himself. Who better to know how to track down the Doctor's energy signature across galaxies and the time vortex?"

"I suppose," Martha said absently, staring into the intricate golden carvings on the surface of the box. Then she asked, "Would it hurt him?"

"It traps him, if only temporarily, in a localised, miniaturised pocket of hypergravity. I can't imagine that it wouldn't hurt."

She gulped, nodded, and continued to stare into the surface of the device.

Lawrence Fortis just let Martha Jones stare for a few moments, and come to terms with what she had heard. He could imagine the wheels turning inside her formidable mind, the absorption of the idea that an astrophysical reaction was waiting just there, inside the thin walls of the Eustarus, sitting before her.

After a few beats, he said, "Dr. Jones?"

"Hm?" she mused. Then she sat up straight. "Yes?"

"I have another document for you," he said, shyly pushing a blue sheet of paper across the space between them. "This cannot be photocopied nor photographed – the text would not show up. Please memorize the text as soon as possible, then burn this document as well."

She squinted at it, then read aloud, "'Outside of the ninety-hour window before or after regeneration… extreme change of attitude or opinion, accompanied by embellishment and/or accessories to the change. Extreme anti-social behaviour or overtly social behaviour. Undue fatalism, resulting in destructive action. Insidious manipulation of large-scale channels of power or control.' And it goes on from there. What is this?" she asked.

"These are symptoms," said Fortis. "Signs to look for."

"Signs that the Doctor has gone over to the dark side?"

"That he's gone all Darth Vader, yes," Fortis said with a nod.

Martha smiled.

"But these are 'symptoms' that the Doctor exhibits all the time," Martha protested.

"I suppose that's why he puts modifiers in, like _extreme_ , and _overtly. Undue, insidious."_

"It's all subjective!"

"Which is another reason why they decided to entrust it to Jo Grant all those years ago, and then the Brigadier. They want someone who _knows_ the Doctor, not just a team of so-called 'experts' who have read up on him. You've spent time with him, you care about him, you've observed him, so you'll _know_ when his fatalism is undue. When his manipulation of large-scale power becomes uncharacteristically insidious. You'll know if changes in him become extreme, or overt, and will recognise an 'accessory' to those changes."

"That's giving me a lot of credit."

"You deserve a lot of credit, Dr. Jones."


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow! I haven't had THAT kind of feedback in a long time! I hope you'll all continue to read, and keep the reviews coming!**

 **One thing: as I said before, this fic is at least 50% ship. There are going to be a few angsty chapters now...**

 **I will say, though, it was fun writing for Donna. I have hardly ever done that!**

 **And... about the whole priestess thing, to give the Doctor and Donna a catalyst for thinking/talking about relationships. And also, it's funny. At least, I laughed to myself while I was writing it. You might notice the Tenth Doctor developing a habit here...**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

TWO

"What are you moping about?" asked Donna, noticing her Time Lord friend slipping around the console, with less than the usual pep in his step.

"Nothing, why?"

"You're pouting."

"I'm not pouting."

"Is it about Jenny?"

"No," he said. "It's really not. Maybe it should be, but it's not."

"Is it because you burned the toast this morning? Honestly, I didn't mind!"

"It's not the toast, Donna."

"Is it because of global warming?"

"No."

"Is it because you put on two different shoes this morning?"

His eyes went instinctively to his feet.

"Ha, made you look!" Donna shouted.

The Doctor smiled a little, scoffed, then went back to concentrating on the console.

"Is it because Martha wouldn't come with us?" she asked.

After a pause, he said, "You know what? I know a great place we can go. It's a planet called Nomdar. They have the Seven Temples of Dinjar there, and each temple has a different type of garden, with a different type of ecosystem! There are no artificial controls within or outside of the temples… the ecosystems just _are._ Isn't that brilliant? And no one knows how it's done!"

Donna pursed her lips and frowned at the Doctor. It had not escaped her notice that when she had asked about Martha, the Doctor had changed the subject. He had also seen the old green-eyed monster flare in his eyes when Martha had shown them her engagement ring. She reckoned that a person would have to have been blind not to have seen it.

In fact, she hoped Martha had noticed it, and felt a sense of perverse satisfaction over it.

But she knew it was not wise, nor particularly effective, to try and force a confession out of him before its time. (Mind you, the confession's time was not the same as the Doctor's time… Donna was rather adept at deciphering the moment when the confession's time had come.) She'd get it out of him when the moment was right.

"You're the Captain," she said, looking him over.

He avoided her eye.

The TARDIS gears ground, the telltale sign that they were surely moving. And when that beautiful, horrible sound came to a halt, the Doctor said, "Behold the Seven Temples of Dinjar!" and gestured to the TARDIS' one and only exit.

She walked through it, and the Doctor joined her a moment or two later. They both looked around at the sight. A humid, emerald green bubble of life, in which Donna counted seven large, ornate, rough-looking, ancient stone buildings, each with seemingly a different icon on the top.

"So, what are those things on the top, then, the different gods that see to the ecosystems inside?" she asked.

"That's what the Nomdarians believe," he said.

"But it isn't true?"

"Well…" he began, almost with a whine. "They're not so much gods as various alien overlords who have come to roost over the millennia to try and take them over."

Donna chuckled. "The universe is the same everywhere you go."

"Fortunately, the Nomdarians aren't that bright, so they don't see themselves as oppressed, but rather _chosen_ by the deity of the moment. I suppose ignorance is bliss. And then, every time they build a temple, a new ecosystem seems to spring up, and it only seems to fuel their belief."

"So then, how do you know the whole 'god' thing isn't true?" she challenged.

"Because it's just not, Donna," he insisted. "That's just not how things work."

"Ye of little faith," she mused, as the Doctor began to walk forward.

"If we're lucky, we'll be able to get an audience with the Priest or Priestess, who could get us into each of the temples."

Over the next few minutes, they made their way closer to the temples, and the sticks and dried vegetation crunched beneath their feet. Donna stumbled a few times in her fashionable boots, but the Doctor was able to catch her.

And before reaching the clearing where the temples' entries could be accessed, they realised that they had made just a bit too much noise.

"Halt!" they heard coming from their right. "Or I loose into skull!"

They both instinctively stopped and looked to their right. An archer was there, about twenty feet away, her bow drawn and her arrow aimed right at the Doctor's head. A crew of more men and women were making their way into the area around the two travellers, not a single amused-looking soul in sight. Every one of them aimed an arrow, spear or some type of projectile at the Doctor or Donna.

Once they were well and truly surrounded, or well and truly buggered, the original archer said, "Kneel! Anticipate High Piestess!"

All of the weapon-wielders knelt, but the Doctor and Donna did not move.

"Kneel!" screamed the first archer, stepping forward to actually press the point of her arrow to the Doctor's temple.

"Okay, okay!" he exclaimed, getting to his knees with Donna alongside him.

Within ten seconds, footsteps could be heard, and a woman made her way past the neighbouring trees. The Doctor dared to look up at her as she came toward him, stopping to look down menacingly.

"Oh, blimey," he sighed.

"Vy you not keep pomise?" she asked.

She was tiny, with slicked-back blonde hair, a red, heart-shaped mouth, and terrifying blue eyes. When she spoke, Donna sniggered a bit, which luckily went unnoticed by anyone other than him. He remembered their bizarre accent, and the unwillingness of the TARDIS for some reason, to translate anything they said into the letter "R."

"I was going to, I really was…"

"I gave access to gah-dens. I do vat you ask!"

"I know, I'm sorry…"

"Who is this?" Donna whispered.

"The High Priestess," he whispered back. "Fenoa Cenulee of Nomdar."

"I ask same question!" the Priestess shouted. "Who you?"

"Donna Noble," answered the Doctor's Companion. "Don't you have, like, verb conjugation here?"

The Doctor warned, "Donna, you might want to watch it. The last time I was here, they cut off someone's… hold on," he said, stopping. He looked up at the Priestess. "How did you know it was me?"

"I know you," she insisted. "Though changed."

"Yeah, changed! Changed a lot! Gained six inches in height and my hair's four shades darker! Not to mention, better fashion sense."

"I know you because eighth temple."

"I thought there were seven," he said.

"No!" shouted the High Priestess. "Eight!"

She pointed to a spot behind them, which they had missed because when they arrived, their backs had been toward it.

In that direction was a triangular temple, at the top of which was the stone icon of a Police Box.

Donna burst out laughing. "They think you're a god?" she asked. "Boy, you said they were dim!"

"Donna!" the Doctor hissed.

"You have duty," said the Priestess to the Doctor. "You keep pomise. Ve ved."

Donna laughed even harder.

"Not joke," one of the archers admonished. "High Piestess ved god of Ceculah Gah-den."

"Secular?" asked Donna. "That doesn't seem right, for a god."

"No, _circular_ ," the Doctor corrected. "They don't do 'R'."

"The Circular Garden? You're the god of it?"

"Apparently," he said.

"And you're supposed to marry her?"

"Yeah," he admitted reluctantly.

"And you knew this?"

"Yeah."

"Then why the hell did you come back here?"

"I missed, all right?" he shot back. "I thought we we'd land later. Much, much later."

"Well," Donna chuckled. "I'm anticipating a highly entertaining afternoon!"

* * *

Nine hours later saw the Doctor and Donna Noble, re-entering the TARDIS, completely wrecked. They had stood trial for insulting the gods, seen the Eighth Temple of Dinjar destroyed by a team of mystic archers as ordered by the tribunal, then been somehow granted asylum by a loophole in their doctrines.

"So, let me get this straight," she said. "You didn't have to marry her, nor serve your prison sentence, because you signed your name with ink from the wrong kind of squid, four hundred years ago?"

"Yeah," he said, pulling his hand down over his face.

"And that is the only reason we are not in a Nomdarian prison right now, for the rest of our natural lives."

"Yeah."

"Wow. And hey, the rest of our natural lives… for you, that's really saying something."

"Yes, it is," the Doctor agreed.

There was something in his eyes now, an uneasiness that was both familiar and foreign to her. And it had been there ever since landing in the vicinity of the Atmos plant. Before the Priestess, before Messaline, even a bit before meeting Luke Rattigan. Something had changed, and Donna knew exactly what it was.

And its time had come.

As the TARDIS gears got ginned up, she watched him closely, then feigned lightness. "It's a pity, though. She was a cute little thing."

The Doctor gave her a questioning frown. "What?"

"She was, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I suppose," he said.

"Oh, don't tell me you don't notice that sort of thing, mister," she teased. "I know you like to act all lofty and pretend that your _proclivities_ are of a higher order than that, that you're all timey-spacey and not interested in what _actual_ men are interested in…"

"Oi!"

"But I've watched you," she continued. "And you've definitely got a healthy...well, let's just say, a healthy eye for the ladies. Now, admit it. The High Priestess? Kinda hot."

Reluctantly he admitted, "Yeah, okay."

"Kinda hot… and also cold."

"That too."

"Terrifying."

"Bone-chilling."

"Still," she shrugged. "I overheard some of her lady-in-waiting-types talking about the traditional wedding night."

"Donna, please."

"I believe the words _pagan frenzy_ were used. Well, actually it was _pagan fenzy_ because apparently they don't have the letter R. What is that about, anyway? Anyway, the meaning came through."

"Yeah?" he asked pressing his hands down on the console and leaning toward her. His eyes were wide and seemed to peer directly into her skull. "What's your point, eh, Donna?"

She was unfazed. "Just that maybe you should have done it."

"Done what?" he spat.

"Married her, genius."

"Why _the hell_ would I want to do that?"

"For the pagan fenzy of course. It couldn't hurt."

He stood up straight and faced her squarely. "Of course it could. What would you have me do? Marry her and leave the next morning? Just take off in the TARDIS and never return?"

"No! Blimey, do I have to think of everything? No, the next morning, you do something to piss her off, and let her think that ousting you was her own idea! That's how you do it, Doctor! Frankly, desperate times, love. That's how you…"

"Desperate times? What are you…" He stopped and narrowed his eyes at her. "Wait, Donna. Just wait. Are you telling me I need to get laid?"

She shrugged with a little smirk. "Your words. Not mine."

His jaw dropped. "I can't believe you would say that!"

"I didn't! You did! And by the way, defensive much?"

"Donna, you're acting like teenager! Just give it up."

"No, I'm acting like a woman whose friend is in pain, and trying to bury it." Suddenly, her whimsical smirk was gone and she was now furrowing with worry. "And… I was just thinking… maybe a good pagan 'fenzy' would help you get past it."

He sighed at her with tedium, then pointedly broke eye-contact.

"Am I wrong?" she asked.

"About the pagan fenzy?"

"Well, yeah. And other things."

"About the pagan fenzy, yes, you're wrong. _That_ would not help. If something were truly wrong, which it's not."

"Oh, please!" she laughed. "Are you really going to go down that road? Because I'm an expert at going down roads. You might be able to fly through time and space, but I've got thirty-nine years' experience with _roads._ You can't hide from me, Doctor."

"Donna, enough."

" _Donna enough?_ Is that all you got? Because you know I'm not going to stop until you've admitted that you're in pain. That you are feeling guilty and at a loss. That all of your thoughts are focused on a woman with a brand-spanking-new engagement ring on her finger, and all of this talk of marriage and pagan frenzies is just bringing it all home to roost. Right there in your lofty Time Lord gut. And you're wondering what would happen if you rang her up and told her what's on your mind."

He was silent for a long while, and just steered the TARDIS, brooding. Donna let him stew for a bit, and sat down on the stool to wait.

Finally, the Doctor's gaze fixed on her. He was relieved to find that she wasn't just sitting there watching him, but rather, seemed to be fretting over her cuticles.

"She's getting married," he muttered.

"So? She's only doing that because she thinks you don't want her."

"You can't be sure of that."

Donna hopped to her feet. "Think about it, Doctor," she said. "She spends a year getting to know you, falling in love with you (for some reason), and another year saving your life. Doing your bidding…"

"For the sake of the planet, not of me," he corrected.

"Putting _you_ in everyone's mind. Trusting that your words and deeds would save humanity. I'll tell you, Doctor, if it had been me, I wouldn't have done half the job she did. We'd have had to turn the keys over to the Master because… well, okay, I have ten years and twenty pounds on her. And if you ever acknowledge that I said that, I will personally kill you."

He nodded, with no humour.

She continued, "But also, I don't have the kind of faith in you that she has. I mean, don't get me wrong, I have faith. I think you're kind of amazing, but not the way Martha does."

"Right."

"And after those two years of _all Doctor, all the time_ , she finally realises, or at least believes, that you will never return her feelings. So rather than stay on, inflict more pain on herself, continue to let her heart chase you around without ever being able to catch you, she decides to step back, and give herself enough space to get over you. Now she has the entire planet Earth's worth of space."

"Yeah, and she found someone on it who would _see her_ for how…" He waved away the rest of the sentence, knowing that any adjective he could conjure would be insufficient.

"Yes, she did," Donna agreed. "But as you know, Doctor, there's not just space. There's _time_. _Time_ is required, in order to get over someone. They say it takes twice a long as the relationship lasted, which is a real downer, but, hey, _c'est la vie_. So, by my count, that would be four years needed for getting over you. At least! And she's engaged in six months? To a doctor who travels a lot?"

"He's a paediatrician, not a Time Lord," he protested, lamely.

"The point is not his similarities to you, Doctor. The point is, he's not about that much. She wears the ring as a reminder, but he's not actually with her. The ring tells her, and the world, that she's engaged to this Milligan bloke, and that, bless his heart, he's in Africa with sick kids… and isn't he wonderful? But did she ever show any indication that she misses him? Did she mention any wedding plans? Did she say anything about how she hopes that he'll slow down on travelling so much, so that they can be together?"

"No," he said simply.

"Wouldn't a woman say something like that, under normal circumstances?"

"How should I know?"

"Okay, fair enough," Donna conceded. "But I can tell you: a woman in a relationship with someone she actually _loved_ would! She would say she misses him, at the very least!"

"What's your point, Donna?"

"My point is that the ring on her finger is not a symbol of a promise to love Tom Milligan forever and ever. It's a visible reminder to her that she's _moved on_ , so that she can say, 'yes, I loved the Doctor once, but look… I've got someone new now.' Just think of how she flashed it at you!"

That thought made him feel a little sick.

"I can almost guarantee you, Doctor. She doesn't love that guy. At least not the way she loves you."

"But even if I know she'd rather have me than him (which I don't), if I sabotage her engagement, what does that make me? Kind of an arse, don't you think?"

"You'd be an arse for about a day. Then you'd be a passionate man who has a shot at the woman he loves."

Once again, he fell silent and continued to fly the TARDIS with a scowl on his face, and no words.

"There's plenty of room for all three of us in this old ship," Donna added, after a few minutes. "You wouldn't even have to prepare a new bedroom or anything. In fact, if that happens, I might try and find my own personal travelling companion!"

The Doctor more or less ignored her, and continued to navigate while he brooded.

* * *

Over the next few months, Donna continued to badger the Doctor. She dropped hints about letting oneself be happy, about seizing opportunities, about sham love affairs, about too-overt visual reminders… she even teased him about attractive women, and "moving on" with one of them.

"Look, I get why you're being such a pain in the arse about this," he said one day. "But do you have to be vulgar about it?"

"It gets your attention, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, but you're not a frat boy."

"Neither are you," she said, quite seriously.

He deflected her every attempt to get him to phone Martha, and even threatened to drop her on an uninhabited planet when she picked up the phone and tried to phone Martha herself. It ended with laughter from Donna, but with the Doctor standing at the console, staring at the phone, breathing heavily with nervousness and emotional exhaustion.

And this was the standoff, the status-quo until one fateful day when all of the walls came tumbling down.

All of the walls of reality, that is.


	3. Chapter 3

**We have already heard/seen the story of what happened when the walls of reality came crumbling and the Doctor's friends got kidnapped by the Daleks and Donna saved the day. I didn't feel like we needed a re-hash. Instead, here is the aftermath, as I see it. :-)**

 **I love you guys. Keep those reviews coming!**

* * *

THREE

A reality bomb was built. Strange things started to happen. People could cross from one dimension into another, with no fuss, no muss. This should not be; the Doctor had seen to that himself.

Timelines were messed-with. Entire planets were stolen. An engine was made, using twenty-seven heavenly bodies, and then the walls of reality began to dissolve entirely.

Basically, the Daleks almost destroyed the whole blasted universe.

But they didn't. Because Companions from far and wide convened, and with the Doctor, they descended upon the problem and picked it clean. Sarah-Jane Smith, K-9, Jack Harkness (plus what was left of his team), Mickey Smith, Jackie Tyler, a barely-explicable clone of the Doctor himself, and of course the slow-to-fade-away Rose. Martha did her part (though nearly blew up the planet she had once worked so hard to save), as did the Doctor and Donna.

And now, the Doctor was alone again. All of them had left him, somehow, some way.

The whole debacle had left him stripped and more emotionally wrung-out than he could ever remember. He felt left out in the cold, and terrified ever to get close to anyone again. There had been angst his whole life, and yet _this_ felt unique. It was disquieting, in spite of the utter silence in the TARDIS.

He had always known the pain of separation, and of uncertainty. It had pervaded his entire existence – Time Lord on the run, filling his life with ephemeral humans and all that. Then, recently, there had been the drama of having had Rose torn away from him, with no opportunity for proper closure. He had just begun to re-find his bearings as a man, to consider Rose, and life, from a different angle, to reach inside and discover that he loved and wanted someone again. He knew that her existence was to be short, but oh, that euphoria… why not let himself be happy? Why not? Then _whoosh,_ she was gone.

And yet, after all they'd been through, after all the effort she had put into coming back to him, when he'd had the choice, he had let her go. He had considered having her stay, but something inside him had railed against that. An inner force resisted the idea of Life With Rose. Something in those beautiful, worshipful doe-eyes just felt like a huge burden. Something in the way that those eyes had been burned into his memory for so long and tortured him in his sleep… it felt wrong. It felt like their chapter together should be over.

And now there was Donna. Perhaps the second hardest thing he had ever had to do was to wipe her memory of all vestiges of him, saving her life, and taking her home to stay. He could never see her nor talk to her again. She had been the ideal companion: a _real_ friend, honest, intelligent, funny, with high expectations for him, and no air of pretention whatsoever. Thinking about her made his stomach tie in knots. Donna Noble had had the capacity for greatness, but it had been squashed by a series of menial jobs, bad boyfriends and her harpy of a mother. But in travel, she had blossomed. Only now, the potential was to remain unfulfilled, lost forever, and Donna had become a shadow of the woman he had known.

Ah, but he had a time machine. He could go back and fix these things.

He could prevent Rose from being in the right room at the wrong time on the day when Canary Wharf fell. Then, she would not fall through the void at just the perfect moment to get trapped in the parallel world.

He could insist that Donna exit the TARDIS onto the Dalek ship first. This way, she would never be left alone inside, she would never touch the hand-in-jar teeming with excess regenerative energy. His clone would never be born, and Donna would never receive that deadly dollop of Time Lord mojo.

Oh yes, he could screw with the fabric of time and space seventeen ways from Sunday. But that was one of the curses of a Time Lord: knowing he can, but knowing he really shouldn't. And also knowing what would happen if he did. Being able to anticipate paradoxes was both a blessing and a curse… in any case, he didn't need to fight Reapers or patch a hole in the Vortex, so well enough had to be left alone.

Leave well-enough alone.

Alone.

A very poignant word. So much was lost. So much out of his reach.

When a man walks through near-infinite empty space on his own, contemplating his actue singularity, it is not unusual for him to hear voices. It's common to pretend for a few moments that loved ones are still about. It helps to think about what they'd say, what they'd be doing now. In a crisis, Donna was practical, and gave good advice.

What would she say now, about the Doctor and his loneliness?

Well, given the battle of words that they'd been fighting for months before the Daleks stole the Earth, he reckoned that she would tell him to quit his pouting. She would remind him _once again_ that all of this loneliness had a simple solution and he knew bloody good and well what it was.

"Martha," he said, solidly, into the echo of the TARDIS' console room.

He sighed heavily. In all of the commotion and drama, he had almost forgotten about the feelings he harboured, the ones he expended so much effort to press down.

Martha did not require constant reassurances, nor had she exactly sought him out – she had had her own job to do. So, he had not had occasion to stop and let his hearts flutter over Martha. Rose's arrival had been like a big flashing neon sign that said, "Look at me!" and he had been distracted, enthralled again without giving it much thought.

But still there was Martha out there somewhere, fighting the good fight, now all the stronger for having walked away from him. Her intellect and elegance both had only grown in his absence… or rather, in her own, unfettered self-care.

Yes, Rose and Donna were gone, probably for good, and he missed them. But they were both basically doing fine, with all the tools they needed to be happy. So, why dwell on the impossible, when all things considered, he'd rather have Martha anyway?

And _she_ was not trapped in a parallel world, nor suffering from the worst case of amnesia in recorded history. _She_ was right there in London. Just a couple of galaxies away. Probably sitting, having a cup of tea.

Possibly with her fiancé.

He sighed again.

Much of Donna's argument in her repeated badgering of him had been built upon one principle. And now, the Doctor allowed himself to wonder whether she was right: _Had_ Martha only got engaged as a way to force herself to move on? Was her ring the physical reminder of said _moving on_ , and Tom Milligan himself, actually irrelevant?

It was all academic; it didn't matter anyway. He would be a monumental prat for trying to woo her while she was engaged. She had made a commitment to someone else, and that was that. Whether she was happy or not, he had no right…

But what if she really _wasn't_ happy? He couldn't really imagine Martha Jones staying even five minutes in a relationship that didn't make her happy… but people had strange coping mechanisms sometimes. He, himself, was living proof of that. And how could she know whether she was happy with Milligan or not? Wasn't he in Africa most of the time? Had they even tried living together?

He wondered if they'd set a date yet. He wondered how long they'd dated before getting engaged – it couldn't have been very long. He wondered whether their families had met and got on. He wondered at all the preparations she may or may not be making for a wedding, and wondered if she was really only doing it because she thought _he_ didn't love her. After all, she would never have got involved with Milligan if she hadn't walked away from the TARDIS, and she never would have done that if he'd realised sooner how much he needed and wanted her.

He thought of the lifelong commitment she would soon make, maybe for all the wrong reasons.

Or perhaps for the right reasons. It was entirely possible that she was truly in love with Milligan, and actually preferred him over the Doctor now. God knew he could give her more normalcy, even from Africa. And it was Martha. She didn't just put up with good-enough. If she agreed to marry him, Tom Milligan must be a stand-up guy.

But either way, didn't she deserve to have all of the information available to her, before diving headlong into this decision?

* * *

"Hello?" Martha said into her mobile phone.

"Hi there," a weary-sounding Tom said back.

"Are you all right?" she wanted to know.

"Yeah," he said. "Just making sure you're all right."

"I'm fine. I'm always fine. How are you making this call, I thought you were in radio silence for a while?"

"Well, with the, er…" he cleared his throat _"The incident_ , they herded all us medics into the nearest bus and brought us someplace with electricity. I think we're just outside of Kinshasa now. I can see something resembling city lights outside the window."

"Oh," she said. "They brought you there just to use the phone?"

"Pretty much. And for telly. We get to watch the BBC get it completely wrong, as far as what happened."

"What about the non-medics?"

"The Ugandan refugees? They're always bad-off, almost no matter what anyone, anywhere does," he said, sounding defeated. "And twenty-six giant planets in the sky doesn't cause malaria to spread any faster. We'll head back out there in the morning and resume our work, once everyone has called home and checked on their loved ones."

"Who's paying for the calls?"

He chuckled. "Martha, why does it matter?"

"I dunno," she said, sheepishly. "I was just curious."

"The French and British governments, probably," he told her.

"Well, I appreciate the call. But I'm fine. You know me. Stuff like that, well, it's…"

"Par for the course for you," he said flatly. "I get it."

Something in his tone did not sit well with her. "Not exactly _par for the course,_ " she said. "Just… well, not, say, outside the realm of my personal body of experience."

"Right," he sighed.

She paused, with a deep frown. "Is there a problem, Tom?"

He paused now. "What the hell happened? Can you tell me?"

"The planets thing?"

"Yeah," he said. "And the two earthquakes. And the hallucinations."

"Hallucinations?"

"Yes," he told her. "We noticed our patients having hallucinations, beginning shortly after the first earthquake and ending just after the second."

"The kids?"

"Some, yes, but children are open to stuff like that and can cope. I'm talking adults. There were adults in the neighbouring tent that had to be strapped to their cot, and they needed manpower to do it, so I went over. I looked at the files. These are folks who have no history of hallucination, mental illness, substance abuse, even reporting bad dreams. But they were losing their minds because they could see things in the jungle. Men with guns who weren't there, animals that weren't there, entire buildings that were fictitious as far as anyone could tell."

"Wow, that's a new one on me," she said. "I had no idea about the hallucinations."

"We reckoned it had to be related. They all started and stopped at the same time. We wondered if it had to do with electromagnetic activity caused by the planetary thing, whatever it was."

"Interesting," she mused.

"Well, how am I supposed to I know, Martha? I'm an M.D., not a bloody astrophysicist! What about you, then? What went on up there? I know you know!"

"I know."

"Because you work for UNIT?" he asked, darkly.

She paused. She knew what he was getting at. "No, not _just_ because I work for UNIT."

"You were _in it_ , weren't you?" he wanted to know. "Right in the thick of it?"

"Yes, I was," she confessed, defensively. "Is that a problem?"

"And the Doctor?"

"He was there too," she told him. "As was Rose - remember that name? And Jack. And this guy named Mickey. And Rose's mum, and someone called Donna and also someone called Sarah-Jane. Not just me."

"You said you were over him."

She gulped, and her stomach turned over. "I am," she told him, measuredly. "But I'm not _over_ saving the world if it needs saving."

"Did it need saving?"

"Yes, it did," she said. "Didn't you see the Daleks?"

"No, the news has been talking about them," he said. "What on God's Earth is a Dalek?"

"How did you not see them?" she asked, getting to her feet. "They nearly took over the planet! Hell, they nearly destroyed the universe!"

"I was in the middle of the jungle, Martha!"

She conceded, "I guess they wouldn't have been attracted to areas that show no light from space."

Rather unable to believe he was having this conversation with his fiancée, he groaned, "Jesus Christ, Martha. Just... what is a Dalek? Why did I have patients hallucinating? What did it have to do with the earthquakes? Will there be neurological damage? Should I order them sent out for MRI's? Or try to, anyway…"

"Okay, okay," she said, carefully. "The first earthquake you felt was the Earth being stolen."

"Stolen?"

"Yes, stolen," she answered. "The Daleks are an alien race… they're like little Nazis that drive around in miniature tanks all the time, and pretty much kill everything in their path, unless they feel that thing is useful. I've run into them at least twice now, and each time, I was deemed _useful_ , so I've survived."

"Nazis in mini tanks. They sound charming."

"You don't know the half of it," she said. "They are the greatest and longest enemy of the Time Lords, which is the Doctor's race. But because of this huge war, there are no Time Lords left except for him, so the Daleks pretty much spend their time either making it a point to mess with the Doctor, or avoiding him."

"Why avoiding?"

"Because even with no Time Lord backup, he always kicks their arses into next Tuesday," she told him.

"Of course he does."

"They stole the Earth because they were building a machine that needed the electromagnetic fields of twenty-seven planets and moons in order to work."

"Seriously?"

"I could not make this up, Tom."

"Right. Fair enough. Continue."

"So they pulled some kind of teleportation or transmat mojo that moved the Earth to a different sector of the universe, alongside twenty-six other planets, which you saw. All arranged just-so, to power their machine."

"Okay, so what did the machine do?"

"They called it a reality bomb," she explained. "They used it to break down the walls of reality. The barriers between dimensions literally almost disappeared."

"So… reality breaks down. That explains the hallucinations, doesn't it?"

"Very likely," she said. "If you had some patients with _any_ sort of clairvoyance, high intelligence, maybe even autism or an undiagnosed schizophrenia…"

"…all that stuff is _undiagnosed_ in the middle of the Congo, Martha."

"Well, there you go. They were likely seeing things that were there, but in another dimension. In a parallel world. The walls became so thin for a while, that it stands to reason, certain people could see through them."

"That's un-bloody-believable."

"I know, right? But it makes perfect sense, doesn't it?"

"In a totally weird way, yes. So does that mean no neurological damage?"

"I should think so," she answered. "I can check with the Doctor for sure, but in my professional opinion, you should just go back to worrying about malaria and dysentery."

"Okay, duly noted. So, what was your part in all of this?"

"Well," she sighed. "I had orders from UNIT to activate the Osterhagen Key."

"The Osterhagen Key? I thought that thing was a myth! Just a mad old conspiracy theory on the internet. But you're telling me it's real?"

"You know about the Osterhagen Key? How?"

"I told you, the internet. You must have a leak inside UNIT."

"Must have," she contemplated.

"Does the Key do what they say it does?"

"What do they say it does?"

"They say it blows up the planet when the suffering of the human race becomes unbearable."

"Then it does what they say it does."

"Holy shit, Martha. And you were under orders to activate it?"

"Yes," she said. "If necessary. Me and two other UNIT operatives at different points on the planet. One big advantage is that it could have put a huge crimp in the Daleks' plans if they didn't have all twenty-seven planets."

"So you almost destroyed your own planet to save the universe."

"Yes, but… well, someone talked me out of it." _Someone who had actually destroyed his own planet to save the universe,_ she thought.

"Could you have done it?"

She fell silent. Then, "I don't know."

"What would you have had to do to activate it?"

"Type in a code and turn the key," she said simply. "That's all."

"And this is all in the Tower of London?"

"No, I was in an underground station in Germany. By the way, Tom, you can _never_ tell anyone about this stuff. I could not only lose my job, it could literally compromise the planet."

"So you were in Germany? Not in the middle of the battle, or whatever it was?"

"Well, as I said, the Daleks just love to screw with the Doctor for some reason which does not behoove them at all. And they captured him, and Rose and Jack and me and a few others, and held us captive in their ship. They enjoy using his friendships as ammunition against him."

"You were in space?"

"Yeah," she shrugged. "I've been in space before. It's no big deal, Tom."

A tone that had been clearly designed to hold back panic now broke. "Okay, you see, that's where you're wrong, Martha. It's a _very_ big deal!"

She took a deep breath. "Is this about the Doctor?"

"No! Yes!" He shouted. Then he was silent except for his breathing, and Martha could practically hear him covering his eyes and forehead, wondering what the hell to say next. Then in a tone that began calm and escalated by the second, he said, "No, it's not about the Doctor. It's about space. It's about all this weird shit that happens, that you're right in the middle of. It's about… God, Martha, do you even understand how weird it is for me that you work for UNIT? They defend us against _aliens_ , Martha, _from space._ Not even, say, the Taliban or the North Koreans. I witness literal _gunfights_ in the jungle every other day, and have to chase Okapis out of our camp on a regular basis, and still it's not as fucking weird as what you do! And that's not even the weirdest thing about you!"

"Wow," she said. She felt something ending right then.

"Sorry, that came out wrong."

"But it came out."

"I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"Why don't you tell me what you meant, then."

"No, it's not important. It was just me on a rant. Forget I said it."

"I don't think I can do that, Tom."

There was a long silence, and then Tom said, "Martha, from what you've told me, this planet comes under fire all the time from outside forces."

"Yes, that's true."

He tutted as if in despair. "Can't you see how, just… _beyond_ that is? How bizarre?"

"I suppose I can," she said. Her voice turned cold. "I can also see how _beyond_ it is that not only do I come into contact with aliens at my job, but I have actually met them, been close friends with one, and even fell in love with him."

There was silence.

She filled the quiet space. "That's what you meant, wasn't it? When you said that my job isn't the weirdest thing about me, you meant that my... _connection with_ the Doctor makes me a freak."

"Not a freak, Martha, just… I can't… I don't get it."

"Don't get what? Things that go on outside of your own world?"

"Maybe," he admitted. "Horrible as it sounds… maybe. By most standards, I am an outside-the-box sort of bloke. I don't exactly stick to life inside my own neighbourhood. I'm a white guy from Britain who is choosing to live in the depths of the Congo, and I risk my life to help people who a lot of people think are beyond help, or not worth the resources. And I'm enjoying it. I feel good about it. I don't need my 'home' to be comfortable. But when you talk about the things you've seen and done, places you've been that are literally in other galaxies, in other millennia, times when you almost died… I just… something inside me freaks out a little bit. How can you leave this planet, and just trust in your _alien friend_ to get you out of jams? How can you just stake _everything_ on that? What if he… I don't know, forgets about you, or changes his mind, and just leaves you behind? How can you count on the loyalty of someone who isn't human? And how can you come back from seeing all of that, and say it's no big deal? Where do you pull from, inside yourself, to get to that point, Martha? Just… how can you… how?"

She heard him sigh heavily.

"Is all of this rhetorical, or would you like answers?"

"Would I be able to accept your answers?"

"I'm not sure I have any," she admitted. She sighed, waiting a few moments, then said, "So I'm too weird for you."

"Not you. Your life. Too weird, too intense, too dangerous, too out-of-my-league… too much. Just too much." He took a breath, then, "Unless you're willing to renounce it all. The Doctor, the spaceships, even UNIT. Come to the Congo and work with me - they'd love to have you. You'd have to take French lessons, but…"

"Tom, this is who I am."

"An alien-fighter?" he asked, incredulously. "But aren't you a doctor?"

"I'm both."

Another long pause ensued. "Are you sure? You can have adventures down here with me. It's not outer space, but it's something. And in a way, you'd be saving the Earth."

She thought about this. She thought about the gunfights, dodging the LRA, practising medicine with only the barest of materials, saving children from preventable diseases, meeting animals she had only ever seen in zoos. That was indeed an adventure, and it sounded appealing. Perhaps in the absence of a TARDIS, it was the best she could ask for.

But it wasn't about the adventure or lack thereof. It was about the man.

She stared at the ring on her finger, and felt hollow. It took some harsh words about time and space for her to finally feel it, but she just didn't love Tom Milligan. Perhaps for a time, on just the right few days, she had been a bit starry-eyed over him, but that was all.

And after today, she wasn't sure she could work or live alongside him. She would always feel self-conscious, as though she needed to sweep her past away.

An 'out' was now presenting itself…

"I'm sure," she told him.

"Then, I'm sorry, Martha."

"I know you are," she said. "I'll go round to your mum's tomorrow and tell her she doesn't have to pay for your cousins to fly in from Dublin. She'll be relieved."

"No, she won't. She loves you. She was really looking forward to having you as a daughter-in-law," he said, sadly. "And I was looking forward to having you as a wife."

"Until you thought it through."

Tom said nothing, except, "What will you tell her? My mother, I mean?"

"I'll think of something."

"She'll blame me, whatever you tell her, so it doesn't really matter."

"She won't blame you," Martha assured him. "I'll just tell her that you invited me to come live in the Congo and I said no. That can't be your fault."

"It can. But it's a good story, and not entirely a lie."

"I'll give her the ring, to give back to you."

"You can keep it."

"I don't need it."

"Yeah," he whispered. "I guess you don't."


	4. Chapter 4

**Three things I'd like to say:**

 **1\. I love the reviews, and I am receiving them via e-mail, even though they are not posting on FFN. I have no idea why. But please keep them coming - don't think they are falling into the abyss, because I am definitely seeing them!**

 **2\. I have tried to reply to a few of them to touch base and say thanks, but the site is not letting me, because it can't find the review itself. I know I can go back and reply to ones that DID get posted, and I will do that when I get time. :-)**

 **3\. Regarding the story: it's going to be at least as long as chapter 7 before we get back to the "fail safe" portion of the story... until then, it's all shipping all the time. Hope y'all are okay with that! I want to let you know that it's all squihshy and I hope entertaining, but it all has a purpose! I have not forgotten about all the stuff that happened in chapter 1.**

 **And with that, I say, enjoy!**

* * *

FOUR

The Doctor had been on his own for about a month when he finally worked up the gumption to pick up the phone. When he did so, he was fairly certain he was going to lose this fight to Tom Milligan (and/or good judgment), but Donna's voice kept echoing inside his head, telling him he would always regret it if he didn't at least try, and that he'd always wonder _what if._

He rehearsed what to say after getting shot down.

 _"_ _Thank you for your time, Dr. Jones. I just thought you deserved to know the truth."_

 _"_ _Well, it was worth a shot, eh? So, whaddya say… friends?"_

 _"_ _I completely understand. Please know that you'll always hold a special place in my hearts."_

 _"_ _Okay, well, take care. By the bye, where are you two crazy kids registered? Do you already have a salad-shooter?"_

He shuddered, cursed, then dialled.

He placed the call to the summer of 2008, making sure that it had been about a month since their last meeting, from Martha's point of view as well.

But much as he had thought about what he might say after she gave him the brush-off, he hadn't really thought through what he might say to get to that point. They gave each other a few friendly initial greetings, but then he sat with his mouth open, mentally trying, and then rejecting, every approach he could think of.

"Doctor, are you all right?" she asked, her voice still bright.

"Yeah," he said, exhaling hard. "Just a bit… well…"

"Look, do you want to meet up for coffee or something?" she asked. "I have something to tell you."

He was more shocked by this than he should have been. "Oh! Yes! Absolutely. Sure. Tell me when and where."

"In an hour? The pretentious organic café at the end of my block?"

"I'll find it."

* * *

"Hello," she said, sliding into the recycled aluminium chair across from him. She felt a tickle at her forehead, and when she brushed at it, she discovered that a few leaves from a plant in the window were grazing her skin.

The Doctor said, "Hi. Sorry about that, let me help you…" He leaned over into the sill and turned the plant sideways.

"Thanks. What _is_ that thing?"

"A coffee plant."

"They grow their own coffee?" she wondered.

"Most likely not. It's probably just a statement. They do, apparently, grow some of the herbs to make their own chai tea, at least if that sign over the counter can be believed. Want to try?" he asked, offering her a sip of his drink.

She accepted, and admitted, "Wow, that's amazing. Maybe I'll get one."

"Already done," he said gesturing to a disposable cup sitting in front of her, that she hadn't noticed. "I took a guess. I asked for 'extra hot' milk – I wasn't sure how long it would take you to get here."

"Thanks," she chirped, with a smile. She took off the lid and tested the temperature liquid with her lips.

The Doctor closed his eyes against this assault on his senses, and then wondered if he'd perhaps regressed into adolescence in the month since they'd seen each other.

 _She dips her upper lip in some tea and milk and you almost swoon out of your chair. Bravo, Doctor. Muy suave._

The tea proved to be too hot, so she gently blew on the surface, and again, the Doctor had to look away.

 _I can't be the first man in history to wish he were a cup of tea. Can I?_

He had been totally unprepared for her effect on him. Unadulterated Martha. No villains to fight, no running to do, no Donna to wrangle, no Rose-angst to sort through… and no UNIT-issue jumpsuit or severely tight bun. Just flesh and warmth, being still, enjoying a drink, guard down, all for him.

All for him… at least while they sat at this table. At least, before either of them started speaking.

"So, as I said on the phone, I have something that I should maybe tell you. It's not a huge deal, at least… I mean it's not world-in-peril stuff, just… something personal."

"What is it?"

She inhaled and exhaled pointedly. "Tom and I broke up."

He couldn't help it. He took in a quick burst of air, and his eyes popped wide.

Fortunately, he managed to suppress the smile that bubbled up after that.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said, taking a sip. "It's for the best."

And she really did seem like she felt it was okay, and for the best. He searched her for any vestiges of grief for the end of her engagement… he found nothing. Not that he was an expert at sussing out human angst, and Martha Jones was a walking totem of his failure in that arena. But still… he could see no repressed sadness behind her smiling eyes.

"You certainly seem okay about it," he assessed. "What happened?"

"He called from Kinshasa the night after the whole Reality Bomb crisis ended, and we talked. He'd been figuring that I was right there in the thick of it, and he was right. I think it was too much for him."

"The aliens and the weirdness, or you, in danger? Because frankly, Martha, aiding Ugandan refugees isn't much safer."

"I think it's just the bizarreness of what I do. What I've been doing, ever since I met you."

"Ah," he commented, feeling suddenly deflated.

"Now, don't look like that," she said, laying her hand across his. "I'm not blaming you. And frankly, if I'd really wanted to, I could have held onto him."

Her touch was electric, but he was able to find his bearings enough to say, "Why didn't you want to?"

She shrugged, pulling her hand away. "I don't know. He started asking questions about the whole debacle in this judgmental tone… questions about you, about UNIT, about what I had been doing. He nearly lost his mind when I said I'd been aboard the Crucible. In space! Oh dear God, hold the presses, I was in space!"

He smirked. "There are people who refuse to believe that Neil Armstrong has ever been in space, you know."

"It wasn't a refusal to believe. It was a does-not-compute sort of situation… or something. Like I'd overloaded his processing unit."

The Doctor nodded as if he understood.

She continued, "I pointed out that it was hardly the first time that I'd been in space, which just seemed to make things worse. I mean, he's always been a little bit freaked out by the whole thing. I can't say I blame him. But at that point, I felt something die. Any spark inside of me that there was for Tom Milligan just…" She clicked her fingers to indicate that it dissipated as quickly as that. "Then he asked me to come to the Congo with him to work with the refugees, and it actually sounded like something I might like to do… but not just to be with him. Someday, maybe I will do it, but it's not worth it _just_ to be with Tom."

"I'm sorry, Martha," he said. And he was sincere.

"It's all right," she said. "Really. We were apart a lot more than we were together – who knows if it would have worked? It was probably silly to be engaged for no more time than we spent in each other's actual company. I guess we just needed to make it official, to have something to show for our relationship…"

The Doctor thought about what Donna had said, about Martha needing to wear a ring as a physical reminder. He wondered if he'd ever get a chance to ask her about it. He thought, if Martha and Tom were dating casually, and then he decided to take off for Africa, Martha might rightfully panic a little, and want, as she said, _something to show._

"Besides," she was saying. "Dealing with aliens is part of who I am now, and anyone that I'm with would have to accept that."

The Doctor nodded. "An excellent policy." He took a hearty sip of his drink. "Martha, why did you feel you needed to tell me?"

"I don't know," she answered lightly. "Because you're my friend. Because you were bound to find out sooner or later, and I didn't want you to worry or wonder."

"I see," he said, nodding.

They each took a sip of their drink, and the Doctor tried very hard not to concentrate on her pursed lips and her soft breath rippling across the surface of her chai tea.

"So what have you lot been up to?" she asked.

"Us lot?"

"Yeah," she chirped. "Is three really a crowd in there? I mean I know the TARDIS has near-infinite space, but…"

"Oh, Martha," he groaned, leaning forward, resting his chin in his palm. "I guess I better bring you up to speed, eh?"

"On what?"

"You're assuming that I've been travelling with Rose and Donna."

"Haven't you?"

"Not exactly."

"What's happened, Doctor?" Martha asked, with a touch of caution in her voice.

He sat up straight and crossed his arms. He took a few deep breaths, and asked, "Remember the clone?"

"How could I forget the clone? It's one of the most disconcerting things I've ever seen," she said. "And that was _before_ Jack started making lewd innuendos."

"Well, he had to go. The clone, I mean. There just wasn't room for both of us in this universe."

"So you banished him to another one," she assumed.

"Yes."

"And you gave him Rose."

"Yeah," he said.

"That was… an amazing gesture, Doctor. An incredible gift to both of them. She gets to have someone who walks, talks, looks and acts like you, but who will grow old with her. And he gets… Rose. If he is everything you were up to that point, except a Time Lord, then, what more could he ask for?"

Martha's tone was bright, yet meaningful, and her smile conveyed admiration and sympathy.

He very nearly confessed himself by way of answering her question. What more _could_ his clone ask for, other than Rose?

He stared at her, her name on the tip of his tongue, but he held it. And over the next few minutes, by turns, he kicked himself and was glad for not having said it just yet.

"Yeah, well, that was the idea," he said. "The clone was born in battle. He was raw energy, he was what I become when I have no checks. He was what I used to be."

"And Rose is the person who sanded out your rough edges," Martha said, matter-of-factly. "It was a brilliant decision. Not just generous… brilliant."

"Thank you," he said gravely.

"But I'm sorry for you."

"Why?"

"Because you lost her. Again. That entire time I spent with you…"

"I know, I know," he interrupted. He could not bear to hear her describe how he had acted during their year travelling together. Constant pining for Rose, pointedly ignoring Martha… God, what a clod he was.

"I just mean, I know you'd have given up anything to be with her again," she said gently.

He stared at her squarely. "Oh Martha, you have no idea how much I gave up, thinking I might be with her again."

Her eyes, as always, swam with compassion, and he could not believe he had once spurned them.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated.

He shook his head rapidly, seeming to shake off the drama. "As you said: it's for the best."

"Because she's a human, and you're a Time Lord, bound to outlive her by millennia…"

He didn't want to hear this. Not from Martha, and not now.

"Because," he interrupted her again. "After the dust settled, I knew our time had passed."

"Really?"

"I looked at her, and I felt like… Rose was essential to my recovery once upon a time. I'm recovered. At least, in that crucial way that was needed when I met her. I'm a different man now. Now, she's a part of a time in my life that… I feel more comfortable missing it, and her, than actually being near her. I don't know if that makes any sense."

"So you didn't just give her up," Martha surmised. "You gave up on her."

He nodded, wincing. "Horrible as it sounds."

"It's not horrible. I gave up on Tom."

He pulled one hand down over his face. "I let her think it was hard for me. I let her think it was just because my clone needed her."

"I let Tom think it was only because I couldn't give up my weird career. You're not a terrible person, Doctor. It would have been ten times worse if she thought it was because you didn't want her around anymore. You spared her feelings, the way I spared Tom's. We both did the right thing."

"I suppose."

They were silent a long time, both sipping, thinking. At one point, Martha reached across the table to squeeze his hand, and then just held it for a bit. She smiled reassuringly at him, and there was something so confident in that smile. She was all grown up now, had shed her cocoon, as it were.

"Shall I ask about Donna, or are you waiting for me to guess."

At that, the Doctor bit his lip and tears filled his eyes. He pulled his hand away from her and once again, folded his arms defensively. He sat stoic, and just let tears fall without wiping them away.

"Oh God," she whispered, staring at those tears with a world of dread written across her face. "Don't tell me…"

He wanted to correct her, to reassure her that Donna was alive, but he could not. He was afraid to speak. He couldn't even bring himself to shake his head.

The violence of this reaction took him by surprise. He had no idea just _how_ broken he felt after losing Donna in the way that he had. Before, he had been alone and merely taciturn; now that he had to explain it, he thought the memory might destroy him.

She dragged her chair over to his side of the table, and laid her head on his shoulder. He freed his arms and she grasped one, and took his hand.

"When?" she asked.

"About an hour after the last time you and I saw each other," he answered, still choking a bit on his words. Then he took a big, deep breath and said, "But I just want to clarify: she's not dead."

"Then what's got you all tied up in knots, eh?" she wondered, with no air of judgment.

"Have you ever read the book _Flowers For Algernon_?"

"Is that the one about the mentally disabled man who is part of an experiment, and becomes a genius?"

"Yep. Remember what happens to him?"

"He works out that his genius will fade and he'll have to go back to being mentally disabled."

The Doctor nodded. "He saw it coming… saw his own deterioration. Knew that he'd basically be slipping into oblivion forever."

She sat up straight and looked at him. "Oh. Is that what happened to Donna? She got all those Time Lord powers, and then had to give them up? That's rough."

"Yeah, it's a bit more than rough."

Martha waited expectantly for him to gather himself and finish. He used his free hand to wipe his cheeks, and continued to let her hold the other.

"A human mind is not meant to hold… Time Lord stuff. It just doesn't have the capacity, sorry to say."

"Well, there go my long-term plans," Martha joked.

"And when you cram more of something into a container than the container can take…"

"It bursts."

"Yep."

"Oh, my God," Martha whispered.

"And Donna knew it would happen. She'd have known it probably almost from the minute she gained those powers… she'd have to give them up, or her brain would…" he couldn't finish the sentence.

"Is she all right?"

"Yeah. Trouble is," he said, mechanically, now staring at the lime green wall. "All of her Time Lord knowledge was intertwined. There was no way to remove _some_ of it without removing it all. Which meant…"

"All knowledge of you, and the TARDIS, anything she's learned about the cosmos, planets, time travel…"

"All of it. It had to be wiped clean."

"Oh, Doctor," she whispered, as a tear fell down her cheek as well

"And I can never talk to her again, or I risk, basically blowing up her mind. Her family can never mention me. She can't be made privy to any alien activity, or some of it might come back to her, and put her in danger."

"That's… oh, Doctor," was all she could think to say, again.

Exhaustedly, he continued. "Martha, when I met her, she was this… narrow person. She could barely fathom life beyond office gossip and Friday night Martinis and celebrity magazines. She was loud and just a bit boorish, and close-minded."

"And you changed all that."

"No, _she_ changed _herself._ She chose to change. She chose to travel. She wanted the adventure, she wanted to learn, she wanted to see beyond her neighbourhood. And the Donna that you knew, she was so much bigger than the Donna I met on Christmas Eve, 2006. So much more than the Donna who's knocking about in Chiswick now, probably trying to nail down a permanent secretarial position, and wondering if she can't remember the past year because she's had a hangover."

It all came tumbling out of his mouth in a whirl of emotion, and at the end, he was just a bit out of breath, and talking more loudly than he would have liked.

For a while, they just sat. Martha placed her head against his shoulder again, stroked his hand, and offered no advice nor perspective, just her presence. Her friendship.

After a time, the Doctor calmed, and Martha asked, "Do you want to hear something nice about a friend who _hasn't_ forgotten you?"

"Yes," he said, sounding surprised.

She pulled her chair back over to the other side of the table. With a smile, she said, "The Brigadier says hello."

"Really?" he asked, immediately brightening. "Is he back from Peru?"

"No, but I've spoken to him on the phone a few times in the last six weeks," she said. "He's a charming man."

"That is absolutely true," the Doctor said, fondly. "What a great friend he was."

"He says the same about you," she told him.

"What's he doing?"

"Mostly trying to get himself extricated from this pissing contest between these two towns in a county outside of Lima. They've got these alien remains, and they are fighting over who owns them. Suffice it to say, the Brigadier is convinced that if he leaves, there will be an all-out war, so until the proper authorities get out there to confiscate the remains, he can't do anything."

"The proper authorities?"

"There's supposed to be a UNIT office in Rio de Janeiro, which is half a continent away, but apparently all of South America is in their jurisdiction. Only, they seem to be dragging their feet."

"I'd offer to help but I'd probably just make it worse," he muttered, thinking.

"It might not hurt to give him a ring," she offered. "He'd probably just appreciate hearing from you."

"It was… almost literally lifetimes ago, the last time I saw the Brig."

"He wondered about you. Wondered how long it had been for you, between when he last saw you and when I last saw you."

"Centuries," he admitted.

"Why so long, Doctor?"

"Got a bit preoccupied by a war, or didn't you hear?"

She chuckled. "Sorry."

He sighed. "Having him in my corner was brilliant. So much easier to get things done. No offence, but that Colonel Mace bloke, he's like a stone with a nose."

"No offence taken," she assured him. "He does lack a bit of nuance, doesn't he? But he still really admires the Brigadier. In fact, you'd be surprised how much sway the Brigadier still has, 'round UNIT. He's not even there, and people ask, 'what would the Brig do?' He's definitely got a part in the conscience of the agency."

"That's good to hear," the Doctor said. "He ought to have sway. He's one of the founders."

"And speaking of sway, he offered me a promotion."

"Really? Congratulations!"

"I didn't take it."

"Why not?"

"Because," she shrugged. "I'm an alien-fighter or whatever now, that's definitely true. But at the end of the day, I'm a doctor, not a soldier. He wanted me to take on a _rank_ and head a squadron full-time."

"That's a promotion?"

"Yes. It would have put me on-par with Colonel Mace, instead of having me answer to him."

"Wow."

"I know. Mace wanted me to take it."

"I agree with him," the Doctor said, to her surprise.

"You do?"

"Yep," he said, dipping his finger in the dregs of honey and spices at the bottom of his cup, and sucking the flavour from it. "I do. I think you should accept that promotion, negotiate a fat pay-raise, and have _sway,_ as you put it, with a direct line to the Brig. Someone like you could overhaul that place, in the Brigadier's image, and/or in your own. And I think that you could command a squadron with one eye shut, and none of this makes you any less of a doctor. You'd still have the soul of a healer. You'd still have everything it takes to save a life. No knowledge is ever wasted, Martha."

She looked at him a bit sideways. "Really? That's what you think?"

"Yeah. Is that so hard to believe?"

"I guess not," she conceded. She paused. "Well, he did say the promotion is mine if I want it – he wasn't going to give it to anyone else. I'll think it over again."

"I know you didn't ask for my opinion, but… well, there it is."

"No, I'm glad to know what you think. It helps."

He was staring at a spot over her head, and then suddenly he said, "You know what I _really_ think, Martha?"

"What?"

"I think we should have dinner together."

"Okay. Tonight?"

"No, maybe in a few days."

"Sure. Where do you want to go?"

"Don't know yet."

"Er, okay."

"I'll text you the details, how about that?"

"Sounds fine."

"We'll celebrate your promotion."

"I don't know that I'll take it."

"It doesn't matter. Just the fact that it's available to you. That's something to celebrate."

And he tapped her cup lightly with his, as if to make a toast, then downed the rest of his chai tea.

* * *

Martha and the Doctor had had chai tea together on a Tuesday.

On Wednesday, she received a text.

"La Cerise Noire, 9:00pm, Chain of Fools event. Friday night. Can you make it?"

When she read the words her jaw dropped.

"Are you joking?" she texted back.

"My jokes are way funnier than that."

"How did you manage it? That place has a waiting list into 2012."

"May or may not have manipulated reservation records using screwdriver."

She chuckled. "Cheeky."

"Well?"

"I'll meet you there."

"Looking forward to it."


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, here we go. It's all downhill from here. ;-) I think you'll enjoy this chapter!**

 **Personally, my favorite part is the suit. *swoon***

 **Thank you so much for stopping to review. It is SO appreciated!**

* * *

FIVE

"So what's the dress code?" asked Tish Jones as she and Martha entered the women's clothing section of Harrod's. "Business, cocktail or ball gown?"

"Erm, I'd say cocktail," Martha told her, beginning to eye some of the dresses in the vicinity. "Although..."

"Okay," Tish said, moving toward a mannequin wearing a bright green satin minidress. "Form-fitting and revealing, or appropriate for colleagues?"

"I'd say something in-between."

"But if you were to err on one side or the other, which would it be?"

Martha thought about it. After a moment, she shrugged. "Something in-between."

"What message do you want to convey?" Tish asked, quite earnestly, ever the PR director.

Martha's eyes widened. She felt like a rabbit caught in headlights. She had no idea how to answer that. What message _did_ she want to convey?

Before she could answer, Tish spoke again. "You didn't even tell me what you were doing and with whom. All you said was, 'I have a dinner.'"

"Okay, well… it's not with colleagues exactly," Martha told her.

"Is it a date?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Then what is it?"

"It's dinner!" Martha said, laughing. "I don't know what else to tell you!"

"Well, where are you going?"

"La Cerise Noire."

Tish's jaw dropped, much as Martha's had when she'd first read the text. "Is this with a man?"

"Yes," Martha sighed, reluctantly.

Tish smiled wickedly. "Not a date, my arse." She slapped her sister playfully on the arm. "Martha, do you know where that is?"

"Yes, it's in the Cherrywood Hotel."

"Um, yeah!" Tish practically shouted. "Gorgeous and expensive."

"Have you ever been?"

"No way! I don't date guys that do things like that. Good for you, getting back up on the horse with someone worthy!"

"I'm not back on the horse," Martha protested.

"The hell you're not," Tish argued. "Even if you think you're not on the horse, you're on the horse, sister. I'll bet you any amount of money, he'll have got a room."

"What?" Martha laughed out loud. "No way! Not this one."

Tish stood very close to her and spoke loudly. "Say it with me: _de-lu-sion-al._ "

"Tish…"

Tish stepped away a bit. "You're either on the horse, or you will be tomorrow night."

Martha frowned. "Don't be vulgar."

"On it, or dodging it. I'm telling you."

"Tish! Enough!"

Tish dug into her purse and found a twenty-pound note. "I'll put twenty on it."

"No, Tish, it's not like that," Martha said, shoving her sister's whole hand back into her purse. "He's taking me to some… event."

"Event? What, like a banquet?"

"Maybe." Martha said. "Although I don't know what he'd want with a banquet. It's not like he's going to be accepting a community award or anything."

"Who the hell is this guy?"

Martha opened her mouth to speak, and froze. After a few beats, she blushed and said, "I'd rather not say."

"Why?"

"Because. I just don't want to," Martha deflected. "Now help me pick a dress." She began inspecting some of the black cocktail frocks nearby.

"Okay. What makes you think it's an event, and not just a wine-and-dine?"

Martha pulled her mobile phone out of her purse. She looked at the Doctor's text from the day before. "It says... Chain of Fools event."

"Chain of Fools?" Tish spat. "Are you joshing me?"

"No, what is Chain of Fools?"

"It's a band, Martha," Tish told her. "Two members are American, two are local. They play a lot of gigs in the area. All the PR reps in town know them – they're _impossible_ to get."

"Oh."

"And I've heard their music," Tish said, in singsong fashion. "The lead singers are a husband and wife duo… very sultry, very bassey. It's like an aphrodisiac for the ears."

"Oh!" Martha exclaimed with a frown.

"So," Tish said. "Form-fitting and revealing it is. Probably wouldn't hurt to buy new knickers either. Plus, probably a spare pair for your purse, for the morning." She was having a laugh at her sister's naïveté.

Under normal circumstances, Martha would have tried to silence her sister with a succinct and direct command, followed by possibly a feminist tirade. But today, she was the one silenced. Yesterday, it had just been a question of _what will I wear?_ Today, the questions were in a completely different league.

* * *

They eventually selected a fitted, strapless just-below-knee-length number in black silk, with a black lace overlay. The lace had intertwining threads of bluish purple metallic. Scalloped ends of the lace complemented the straight bustline and the hemline. She wore deep, cat-like lines of black above her eyes, and complements of bluish purple shadow, that might as well have been part of the dress.

She pulled the front side strands of her hair back and clipped them behind her head, then pulled loose the first few rows of hair immediately surrounding her face to give it some volume. She left it straight, as she did not want to overdo it, and couldn't count on her stubborn hair holding a curl anyhow. She wore large rhinestone earrings that sparkled when she moved her head.

And when she pulled the zipper up the side of her new dress and inspected herself in the mirror, something in her stomach went _thud_. She was dressed to the nines and had worked hard to looked impeccable. For what? For a man who had never, ever shown her any but the most passing of interests? Who had actively ignored her for so long that she finally had to force herself to look him frankly in the eye, just so she could walk away from him? For a man who was literally centuries old and had seen bloody everything?

"Yeah," she whispered, checking her hair, in spite of herself. "Stupid." She sighed and stepped into a pair of shoes that made her three inches taller than usual.

It had been fun to kick about in this dress in the department store with her sister, and _ooh_ and _aah_ over how it looked on her, but now, she was "going live." It was about to get very, very real. She almost wished she had chosen a sensible suit.

But she grabbed her clutch purse (without a spare pair of knickers) and a navy blue pashmina shawl and walked out the door, before she could change her mind.

And on the taxi ride to the Cherrywood Hotel, she asked herself a million questions.

What _exactly_ had he said when he'd invited her to dinner? What had been his tone? The look in his eyes? Was she being thick, thinking this was _just dinner?_ What was he doing bringing her to a five-star hotel? Why would he invite her to the Chain of Fools event? Did he just like their music? Was Tish exaggerating about the whole _aphrodisiac for the ears_ thing? What would she do if it wasn't an exaggeration? What if Tish was right about the whole damn thing? Was she, Martha, even interested now? Did she really have any business agreeing to this? She had said _yes_ without a second thought... had she thought, on some level, that it would lead her someplace fantastic, or had she _really_ thought it would be an innocent dinner?

Come to that, she had not yet discounted the idea that it _was_ just an innocent dinner. In fact, in all likelihood, she was misreading the signals completely... it was _the Doctor,_ after all. High romance wasn't exactly his thing, at least where she was concerned.

And all too soon, the taxi stopped right at the hotel door, she paid and thanked the driver, then took the hand of the doorman who had opened her door and offered his courtly assistance. He let go of her hand once she was upright and clear of the taxi, but then she just stood and stared at the doors.

"Miss? May I direct you somewhere?" he asked, noticing that she looked worried, confused.

"What? No, thank you. Actually, yes. I'm supposed to be meeting someone in La Cerise Noire."

"Of course," he said, and he gave her simple directions to the posh hotel restaurant.

She made her way slowly across the lobby, growing more and more nervous with every step. The questions kept mounting, and also the unhelpful voice in her head that said, _Relax, it's just the Doctor._

She entered a large, L-shaped room, and she surveyed the crowd. Her eye was drawn to the right, where there was a wide, concave, magenta, back-lit set of shelves stocked with fine liqueurs, displayed proudly and evenly apart. It was impossible not to notice it, and feel just a little bit of awe. A barman moved smoothly up and down the bar in front of it; at the moment, he seemed to be mixing a Martini, and chatting with some of the patrons.

And then her eye was caught again. Someone was standing up from the bar and moving toward her. She registered his presence, and smiled, wondering if she'd pass out.

Because he was smiling back, but not in his usual boyish, excited way. It was a smile that seemed to say that he liked what he saw. It was so penetrating, it made her contemplate whether he could read her mind. It made her ask ten thousand new questions, and then chastise herself for "going there" again.

And because he was _stunning._ The hair was the same, but the rest of the package was almost totally unfamiliar. He was wearing the usual, well-tailored suit, but it was charcoal grey and the pinstripes were a barely-noticeable, lighter grey. The fabric was of several degrees' better quality than his usual, and it had a bit of a shiny quality about it. He wore a crisp, burning white dress shirt with no tie, and the top button undone. And strangest of all, on his feet were actual, real-life, grown-up, black dress shoes with a high shine.

She couldn't help but feel a bit breathless, and hoped that the stupefaction was not registering on her face. _That_ would be humiliating.

Still, she reminded herself, it now seemed as if she wasn't the only one who had stood in front of the mirror for longer than usual tonight.

And that fact… well, it should have made her feel more confident. Instead, it rendered her mouth as dry as the Sahara.

"Good evening, Dr. Jones," he said lightly, reaching out for her hand.

"Good evening," she managed, as he kissed her wrist.

"You look…" he began, but couldn't finish. He exhaled pointedly, then smiled in lieu of an adjective.

"Thank you," she said. "And you."

"Ah, _voilà,_ the lady arrives," said a French maître d', as he slid in behind a small podium. "Would you like to be seated now?"

"Yes, thanks," the Doctor said. And he turned to face the restaurant. The host led the way to the corner table and gestured toward a moon-shaped, black velvet booth for two, in which a couple could sit beside one another, and yet be in a comfortable position to talk.

Once they were seated, the Frenchman rattled off some information about the evening's specials, offered them a choice of aperitif, then hurried away to summon the wine steward.

And when he was gone, something of the veneer went away.

"Well," Martha mused. "This is sort of nice."

He smiled. "I thought so. Just happened by, and thought… meh, why not?"

She laughed lightly.

She thought about how tonight could go, and how much more enjoyable it might be if they both put all cards on the table now. She wondered if she'd have the courage to say something. She wondered if she'd need to have a couple glasses of wine first. She wondered…

"So, this is a date, then," came tumbling out of her mouth nevertheless. And much to her own surprise, she did not regret it.

"Erm, yeah," he said, his eyes roving about the room uneasily. Then they came to rest on her. "Yeah. Is that all right?"

"Well," she sighed, feigning resignation. "I got all gussied up for it. I may as well stay."

"I'm ever so glad to hear it."

"What made you choose this place?" she wondered.

"Originally, I thought I'd choose one of those crazy cliff-side places in Thailand that you have to hike to, and they serve sushi that you can watch them catch at high-tide," he said. "I also thought I might assess just the perfect yearfor it, with the best catch, the lowest occurrence of mercury in the inlet, and all that. Incidentally, it was 1992. I had the coordinates set and everything."

"That would have been very you."

"Yeah, that's why I just thought I'd act like a normal bloke for once and choose somewhere to which you could travel without a time machine, and have you just meet me."

She chuckled. "Well, I've dated normal blokes, and _this_ is a first for me," she said, gesturing around, indicating the thickly elegant restaurant.

"Glad to hear that as well."

She shrugged off her shawl and arranged on the seat beside her, then almost instinctively moved a couple of inches closer to him. He took her hand, and just held it, while the two of them pored over the different lists – wine, hors d'oeuvres, salads, entrées, desserts, cordials, cheese courses, the whole exhausting programme.

After a minute or so, a wine steward appeared, and talked with them about food pairings. In the end, they ordered what the steward said was his favourite. Then, an attendant of some sort served them aperitifs in Asian-style teacups, and he described in detail what was in each of them. Eventually, a proper server materialised and talked to them yet more about food and wine, culinary processes and the chef's personal history. It occurred to Martha that this restaurant was excellent for fans of fine cuisine, but not so much for two people who just wanted to be with each other.

Before he walked away, the waiter reminded them that Chain of Fools would begin their set in about an hour.

While the Doctor's thumb swept back and forth across the back of Martha's hand, giving her chills and occasionally rendering speech incredibly difficult, she said, "Tish said this band is impossible to book."

"Apparently not, if you play your cards right."

"You didn't," she scolded.

"Me? No! I just mean, it's a five-star hotel and a world-renowned restaurant," he assured her. "No offence to Tish, but I'll bet their PR department doesn't have to call anyone twice."

* * *

He held her hand a bit longer, smiled brightly when the moment called for it, and talked about the last month of his life in the most measured, matter-of-fact tones he could manage, given the subject matter. He was as restrained as she had ever seen him, downright formal (but extremely polite) with the wait staff, and almost _dainty_ with his food.

It occurred to her to wonder if Time Lords had a charm school where they learned the mores of etiquette throughout the universe, so that if the occasion ever arose, they would know how to behave in the "correct" manner on any planet.

But after watching him for a while, Martha realised something: he was just as nervous as she!

A normal bloke, indeed.

He had gone to some lengths to look a certain way, and was now clearly attempting to _act_ a certain way. Everything about him screamed _impressive_. This would not be so, if he were not trying to impress her. And she realised then that on different levels at different times, he'd been trying to impress her since they first met. This thought calmed her a bit.

As they talked, and the different courses were served, some of her questions fell away, and new ones arose. But the one big one that plagued her was: what does this mean? If his manner and attire had not been enough, then his words had confirmed that he had intended this to be a date. It _felt_ romantic because it was supposed to. So where did they go from here? What the hell did he want? And what had changed his mind?

But she resolved to ask him later. Perhaps she would find out the answer on her own. And if not, she would ask him tomorrow. Somehow, having the "where is this going" discussion didn't seem right, on an evening like this.

Curiously, the wine bottle on the table was still half-full when they finished their entrée, as though they were both carefully measuring exactly how uninhibited they wanted to become. However, they both ordered a cordial before dessert, and as they sipped, two people entered the dining room, one of them carrying a double bass and a bow, the other sitting down at a piano in a corner.

The musicians discreetly tuned their instruments, and within a few minutes, another two people entered the restaurant and joined them. A tall broad, tuxedoed man with a reddish-blond beard, spoke with an American accent, and voice like warm milk, into a microphone, gently seizing the attention of the crowd. Beside him stood an attractive black woman with an easy smile and, Martha noted, perfect hair and an expensive sequined black dress.

"Good evening, ladies and gents," he said. "My name is Joseph Chapin, and this is my wife, Marlene Chapin. We appreciate the opportunity to perform for you tonight." He then introduced their double-bass player and their pianist, and the crowd politely applauded as though watching a golf tournament. "Together, we are Chain of Fools."

With that, they began playing and singing a minimalist yet soulful, syncopated, slightly jazzy cover of _Chain of Fools_ by Aretha Franklin. It was visceral somehow. Breathy and coy. The voices danced together as bodies do, and the double-bass made the listener feel it in their bones.

To a casual passer-by, Chain of Fools may have seemed incongruous in this arena, but their sound transformed the ambience of La Cerise Noire. In the air was something not just elegant, but now sultry and pleasantly oppressive. Anyone in the room that had come to dinner, say, with a family member, should now be rather uncomfortable.

When the song ended, Marlene Chapin reminded the diners that the entire cherry wood-planked space in front of them was made for dancing. The group then launched into the next song, and a few people got up and headed for the dance floor.

The Doctor held out his hand and asked, "Dance?"

She didn't answer. She just smiled and put her hand in his.

Her knees shook as she stood. She felt his hand meet gently with the small of her back as he guided her to the dance floor. This tiny gesture sent seismic waves through her, forward, up and down, all the way out to her extremities.

The music magnetised them; they were drawn together by the depth of the velvety bass, the urge to move and touch. She placed her right hand in his left, he placed his right hand on her back, and they fell into the music. She couldn't see his face, but could hear him breathe, and noted that her own breath felt short and heavy.

In his hands, he felt curving, warm flesh moving in rhythm against silk, and prickles of heat began to torment him within his own clothing. He was glad he'd decided not to wear a tie.

And if they pressed even one more inch closer, they both knew that Martha would be able to feel the dual heartbeat against her own chest.

They continued the same way through a couple of songs. Then, while the Chapins were singing Peggy Lee's _Fever,_ the Doctor said, "So… congratulations on your promotion."

"Excuse me?"

He chuckled slightly. "Aren't we here to celebrate your promotion? Or at least the availability of a promotion?"

"Ah yes," she sang. "Celebrating something. Something that is in no way an excuse for… all this."

"Absolutely," he clarified. And they passed a minute or so in a whimsical silence. Then, in a voice that was a few shades deeper than usual, he wondered, "Is it too much?"

"Is what too much?"

" _All this_ , like you said. The restaurant, the dance," he said, tentatively, a little afraid of the answer. "I was thinking it may have been a bit heavy-handed…"

"It's perfect," she said, and she felt a wave of tingly heat as various moments of the evening came rushing back to her, and she allowed herself a blissful smile. Then she added, "Unless I'm getting the wrong message."

"I don't see how you possibly could."

"You've seen to that," she teased lightly.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Lots of things," he whispered. "But for the moment… I guess… well, as soon as I decided to ask you to dinner, I knew where I wanted to take you. I knew we'd have wine and dancing and… I didn't think you'd say yes."

"Really?"

"I didn't think you'd agree to have dinner with me, if you knew what I had in mind. So I did that thing with the text, to make it easier on myself, in case you changed your mind. I wouldn't have to look you in the eye."

"You thought I'd turn you down."

"Thought there was a good chance."

She sighed, remembering that just an hour or two before, she had been wondering, what the hell she'd been thinking, agreeing to this.

But she said, "Blimey, you still don't know me very well, do you?"

"Things have changed. You've grown as a person and a doctor, been engaged to someone else…"

She pulled back and looked him in the eye for the first time since they began dancing. "So you thought you'd just lure me in with the promise of a friendly meal, somewhere safe."

"Not the promise," he pointed out. "I was careful about that. Just the implication."

"Ah-ha," she lilted, with a wink. "That's entrapment. A bit predatory, if you ask me."

He looked off into the distance, feigning deep thought. "Entrapment, eh? I prefer to think of it as _seduction_."

Those words hit her like a ton of bricks. For several moments, she could think of no words, on any topic, in any language.

He went on, "But one look at you tonight, and I started wondering, who's seducing whom, exactly?"

She was fairly certain that she was not imagining it when she felt his fingertips dig gently into her back, and pull her closer to him. They were almost flush against one another now, with very little daylight between.

And here's where it recommenced in earnest. The fire inside, the deep tremor of desire that had fuelled a lot of her misery in her first year with him. It used to come over her in flutters whenever he looked at her a certain way, or touched her gently. It would come and go of its own free will, and sometimes, of his. She would curse it and embrace it at the same time. She reckoned it never was extinguished, no matter how many times she told herself it was. No matter how many times she assured Tom.

"Who's seducing whom?" she mused. "Why decide? Can't it be reciprocal?"

He smirked. And she was awash again in heavy, thick heat. "Isn't it more fun when there's an unwitting subject?"

Her voice dropped. "Think of how much more fun it could be when the subject is… witting. That is to say… willing."

He smiled pleasantly now. "I never thought of it that way."

"Mm-hm. The endgame, if you will, could be all the sweeter."

"Endgame. The moment of truth."

"A very good way of putting it," she commented. "Truth." Involuntarily, images came into her mind. They were familiar to her, images from fantasies having plagued her throughout the time she had known him. How delicious they could be, and how frustrating. But they were, though imaginary, truth. They were part of _her_ truth, the inner complexities of her existence, that had become all the more complex since meeting the Doctor.

"In that case, I'm very much enjoying being seduced by you, Martha Jones."

"Mutual, Doctor."

"So what we're saying is, we're here to trick each other into… well, truthfulness, if nothing else?"

"Yes, absolutely," Martha said, charmingly, pretending to be very serious. "That was fully my intent in coming here. Well, one of them. Celebrating a promotion… and tricking you into the truth."

"Good," he said. And now he _was_ serious. He stopped dancing for a few moments and seized her face in his two large hands. "Because the truth is, I can't stop thinking about you."

"Doctor…" she breathed.

He spoke slowly, and the voice dropped low again, and stabbed her directly in the gut. "Your eyes, your skin, your voice, your lips… I can't get my mind off them, and how _badly_ I want them all to myself." With that, he kissed her fully and without pretence. Just for three seconds and then he pulled gently away and resumed his previous position.

And they danced even closer. All heat and breath and wonder.

"I feel like saying _welcome to my world,_ " she whispered. "That's how I've felt since the moment I met you."

Somehow, it felt like just the right moment to take advantage of the three-inch height-boost she had, and to extend her neck, to plant a soft kiss just below his ear. She heard and felt his breath hitch, felt his body tense a little, so she tried it again. She sighed audibly with surprise and contentment, which, for him, was just a bit intoxicating.

In response, he let go of her hand and curled the arm round her waist, and squeezed gently. He buried his own mouth between her neck and shoulders, and breathed in her scent. He returned the kisses then, and she shivered.

"I have a gift for you," he whispered.

"Do you?"

"Yes. It's upstairs." Then another quick kiss of warm, exposed flesh.

"Upstairs?"

"Mm-hm. Seventh floor."

"You've got a room?"

"Yes," he confessed. Kiss. "Is that wrong?"

"No, it's just, now I owe my sister twenty pounds."


	6. Chapter 6

**So... maybe don't read this at work. Just sayin'. ;-)**

 **The goal here is an encounter that mirrors the rest of the evening. Smooth, sensual, atmospheric, lots of effort on the Doctor's part, and totally sweeping Martha away.**

 **And yes, things are moving fast for our duo. But you know, though it's their first official date, they did live together for a year, and it's not as if they're unsure of one another. It's like they're starting on the fifteenth date or something... they've earned this. At least Martha has.**

 **Although, it's almost a shame to say goodbye to that charcoal-grey suit. Sigh.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

SIX

He slid the card-key into the lock and removed it straight away, and the latch clicked discreetly open. Something about that sound was incredibly satisfying. He walked through the door, and held it for her, ushering her in.

"Thank you," she said, with a smile, sliding past him. She looked about, and felt immediately enmeshed in some other reality. There was one kind of surrealism that she was accustomed to experiencing with the Doctor; _this_ was in a whole different realm.

Case in point, she had fully expected to walk into the room and find a blue police box parked in it. But there was no such thing. She turned and faced the Doctor, looking him over in his crisp, glossy charcoal suit and highly-polished shoes. He almost always looked gorgeous to her, though she could never quite put her finger on why. Sharp eyes, thin features, a wholly angular-looking man. Tall, lean, youthful, a sparkling smile. None of this should be enough to have the effect on her that he always had…

But all night, dressed this way, every time she'd got an unabashed glimpse while he was looking away, she had blushed. She had literally felt hot all over, and wondered if even her toes had turned pink. Perhaps it was the suit itself, or the expensive shirt, or the glint on his shoes. It could have been the muted, smooth manner in which he spoke and danced. More likely, it was the effort, and the desire to impress. Tonight, everything about him dripped with spectacle and sex, and the whole seductive scene had come to roost right inside her, and made her ache. It was having its desired effect, and she hadn't even bothered trying to tell herself otherwise.

"May I?" he asked reaching out.

"Thank you," she repeated, placing her pashmina and her purse in his hands. He draped the former over the back of an armchair, and set the latter on the seat.

And there was a knock.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, moving toward the door to answer it.

She seized upon the opportunity to take in her surroundings. With every detail she noted, she fell a bit further into the fog, the phenomenon, the enticement.

The walls were mostly panelled with a greyish-blonde wood, as were the floors. The bed was to the left, covered in a white bedspread with a wide steel-grey band across the middle, and accented with grey pillows. The opposite end of the room was entirely lined with windows, covered with crisp white shears. In front of that, there was a soft white sofa and a curvy coffee table, stained to match the walls. Each nightstand had a small globular vase with a perfect white peony floating in water, lit by a tiny white sconce jutting from the wall. On the right, there was a little alcove that held the white armchair where her belongings now rested, and a desk, with live orchids growing from a little rectangular pot.

The wardrobe door had been left slightly ajar, and Martha peeked inside. There was an empty garment bag emblazoned with the word "Armani," and a shoe box on the shelf, in a similar state. Also hanging, there was a brown cotton-polyester suit with light blue pinstripes, a well-worn light blue dress shirt with a brown and blue tie hastily thrown over around the neck of the hanger. Beside the shoebox, there was a beaten-up pair of Converse trainers with socks stuffed inside.

She smiled. She was happy to see through the illusion just a bit. Again she noted the _effort_ all of this had taken.

There was a door beside the bed, and she wandered over and took one step in. It was a long, narrow bathroom with separate toilet cubicle, and she spied a black leather toiletries bag on the counter. It was open, and some of its former contents were sitting out on the marble surface.

"Hi," the Doctor said from behind her.

He startled her a bit. "Oh!" she exclaimed, turning around. "Who was at the door?"

"A steward from the restaurant," he said. "They brought us an airtight bag with our unfinished wine in it."

"That was nice," she said. "What's with the shaving cream and stuff?"

"I spent the night here."

"Why?"

"Dunno. Getting into character, maybe." He gave a crooked smile at his own comment. "Maybe just trying to be normal, like I said. Had to get a feel for it."

"Again with the normal?" she asked, sweetly, incredulously. She closed the few feet of space between them and pressed her hands against his Italian-crafted lapels. "If this is normal, then… well, colour me odd. But Doctor, you know that it's the _not-normal_ that…"

She lost eye contact then, and stared at her own hands, and the fabric beneath them.

"That what?" he asked, nervously.

She took a long pause, and then forced herself to look him in the eyes. "You know how I feel about you, right?"

"I know how you _used to_ feel about me," he answered, swallowing hard. "Before the whole 'getting out' speech, and before Milligan, and before UNIT, and the reality bomb..."

"Please. I was lying to myself through all of that," she admitted. "Nothing has changed, Doctor. Not on the inside."

"Well, a lot has changed for me on the inside."

"Finally," she whispered with a smile.

He smiled back. "And speaking of changes on the inside, I said I had a gift for you. Isn't that why we came up to the room?"

"Sure, that's why. If you say so," she lilted.

With another crooked smile, he turned to pick up a silver box with a white bow that had been sitting on the desk. It was the size and shape of a package of index cards, but was a bit weightier. He handed it to her, and she slid off the ribbon and lifted off the lid. Inside was a shiny, brand-new piece of technology.

"Okay." She wasn't sure what else to say. "An iPhone?"

"I should have mentioned… I don't just have a gift for you, but also a proposition."

"A proposition?" she asked, smiling cautiously. "I'm a little freaked out, Doctor."

"The phone is already modified to include universal roaming," he told her. "And when I say universal, of course, I mean the whole universe, in any time period. I once equipped your other phone with it…"

"I remember."

"…when I wanted to take you on full-time."

"Are you asking me to…" she wondered, choking on her words a bit. She found she couldn't finish the sentence.

"I am," he said. "I found that life was very hard for me without you, Martha. And… well, I wish you would come back. Travel with me. Share with me in the _not-normal._ "

She would have liked to keep a bit of mystery about her, maybe make him squirm a bit, and earn it. But she'd been painfully restrained ever since the dance began in the restaurant. So, in response, she jumped up and put her arms around his neck, and forced her lips against his. He curled both arms around her and she bent her knees, fully lifting herself up off the floor.

He walked about four steps forward to the bed moved on his knees to the middle, and fell forward. Martha landed on her back, with her head just below the accent pillows.

He pressed his whole body down upon her, knowing it might leave her breathless, but not able to stop himself. For less than a second, he pulled away, only to better position the kiss and resume, driving his tongue into her mouth. She groaned, and let her own tongue push back, matching him, urgent for urgent.

When he pulled away again and looked down at her, it was with more than just a glint of greed in his eyes, and suddenly the slick burn that had been plaguing her almost since she arrived at the restaurant, was screaming at her from inside of her own body. He laced the fingers of both hands with hers, then pinned them down to the bed, beside her shoulders, once again seizing her lips and tongue. After a few seconds, he took that hunger and directed it at her neck. The licking, sucking, squeezing sensation against her flesh went straight down between her legs and she moaned, and began to writhe just a little.

He nipped and licked at her neck all the way round to the other side, then bit her gently, and she yelped in surprise. He chuckled softly into her ear, then let go of her hands.

He sat up with one knee on either side of her, and very quickly shed his jacket and tossed it onto the plush greyish-blonde area rug behind him. Martha smiled, and reckoned that clothes like the ones they were wearing were meant to be heaped on the floor at some point, and if not, then why wear them? Then he moved back a bit, committing both hands to the bodice of her silk and lace dress, looking for a way to unfasten it.

"It's on the left side," she whispered lifting her arm a bit.

He tugged the zip down slowly, those piercing brown eyes never leaving hers. When the opening reached her waist, he peeled back the fabric diagonally and dipped down to kiss, and gently lick, the triangle of exposed flesh beneath her strapless bra. She took in a quick breath in surprise, and grabbed onto his arms for leverage.

He worked the zip the rest of the way, laying open her skin carefully, as though she were a gift wrapped in crepe paper. He kissed and licked his way across her stomach, then when there was no more zip to undo, he tugged at the whole garment. She lifted her bum and let him slide it all the way down her body pooling it on the rug beside the discarded Armani jacket.

And for a moment, he just took in the sight. She was now wearing only a strapless black lace bra and a matching set of knickers, both of which were flawless, and seemed painted-on. They seemed chosen expressly to wear with the blue and purple and black metallic lace cocktail dress that was currently tangled up on the floor. It was tempting to believe that she'd known these garments would be seen, that she'd suspected she'd only need the dress for the first portion of the evening.

Not that he was complaining. The sight was intoxicating. _She_ was all-around dizzying – everything about her. She was brilliant, she was gorgeous, she was funny and kind, and he loved her. And she was _here._ It had seemed an eternity that he'd wanted this moment, and he wished he could just bottle it – the anticipation, the heat, the utter beauty of her.

But, of all the evening's moments worth bottling, the best was yet to come, and he descended upon her, taking her lips ravenously once again with his own. He gave a tortured groan and she felt something very hard grinding quite intentionally into her thigh. She answered his groan and parted her legs just a little, unable to help herself.

Her hands went immediately to his shirt buttons. As he continued to suck at her lips and tongue, he lifted himself just enough that she could undo them. Once she'd unfastened the last, she pushed her hands inside the shirt, and down his arms, and he wriggled free of it and tossed it away. Then she went for his waistband, and felt a soft leather belt in her path. She fumbled a bit, but managed to unfasten it, as well as the clasp of his trousers and the zip.

He shifted his weight to one arm, and pulled back to examine her eyes. The only thing he could find there was a clouded-over kind of lust. With his free hand, he reached down and freed a very hard member from a very confining pair of pants and trousers. She, in turn reached down and pushed aside the thin strip of soaked lace that was in their way, then felt him push forward and fill her.

Each gave a half-sigh, half-moan of both tension and relief. He took hold of her hands and held them over her head, pushed in and out slowly, but firmly, and relished in feeling her body strain and writhe beneath him.

"Faster," she urged with a hiss. "Please."

"No," he teased, kissing her neck. "We want to make this last."

She looked at him with fire in her eyes, and bit her lip as he continued to restrain her arms and possess her with strength and slowness. Nevertheless, catharsis rose quickly - it did not have far to go. Whether he'd been meaning to or not, he had teetered her on the edge for a good portion of the night, and now he was here, inside her, claiming and controlling her pleasure. Total release came easily. She tilted her head back and cried out.

He saw pleasure wash over her face, felt her body tremble, felt her insides tugging at him from deep within. "That was perfect," he whispered to her. "Now do it again."

He released her hands and they went straight to his hair. She buried them, as she had always longed to, in that thick, dark mass and pulled. He moaned in response, and began to drive into her a bit harder. She gasped and let out small, breathy shrieks as her overly-sensitive body found itself once again stimulated and buzzing with anticipation. He pushed through to her core, over and over again, without ever losing control, and little shocks jetted through her body into her face and fingers and toes.

He wanted to devour her mouth again. He wanted to tuck his head down, whisper nasty things to her and thrust harder and faster until an explosion hit him and he had nothing left. But he also had a desire to make her come over and over again, give her pleasure until she couldn't take any more, watch her absorb, and then release bliss, and feeling her work it through her body in the between-time. He wanted to be in control, at least for now, and that involved keeping his cool while making her burst at the seams.

And she did. She dug her fingers into his shoulder blades, squeezed his hips with her thighs and called out a curse. Once again, he felt her all velvety and slick on the inside, pulsating, throbbing, shivering.

She opened her eyes and looked at him incredulously.

"All right?" he asked.

She nodded, still trembling a bit.

"Shall we pull back the covers?"

She nodded again.

He withdrew and stood up, removing his trousers and pants the rest of the way, and Martha stepped out of her lacy knickers. She tossed aside the grey pillows and he turned down the blankets. They met halfway on their knees, and pressed their mouths together once again. His hands slid down over her bum, making her silky skin absolutely spark. With one flick of his fingers, he had her strapless bra snapped off, and it became the last garment to hit the floor.

She sank down into the plush sheets and blankets, and he took his place between the sheets, and inside of her. Over the next hour and a half or so, they moved, they shivered, they moaned and slid. He was, as he had been all night: controlled, practised, enticing and successful. She let him have her, let him toy with her, lead her up and down and through. In rare moments of lucidity, she marvelled at the skill, the centuries of experience, love and pain he brought to bed with him. Every part of her was thankful for all of the baggage that he had dragged to this point. Until, at last, she crested for the fifth time, now panting and begging unabashedly, all inhibitions totally and completely gone… and he crested along with her.

Her eyes flew open when she realised it, and she thrust her hand into his hair and pulled, saying his name with in breathless tones, as her body spasmed. He resisted the tug, but it seemed to spur him on. He locked his eyes onto hers, growled an expletive, and he came – all throbs and jets and mind-numbing flashes of ecstasy. Her ankles locked over his back as she twitched for the last time that night, and they pulsed in and around another.

And when they found themselves recovering side-by-side, without words, sleep took them both, like the fiercest, most sensual lover of all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay, well... the fun is not over yet! The Doctor and Martha still have an encore on the horizon! ;-) If it weirds you out a little, it's supposed to. If it doesn't, then maybe you and I are kindred spirits!**

 **But this is where things start to go slightly awry. I think you will like this chapter.**

* * *

CHAPTER 7

Martha Jones opened her eyes, and found herself in an unfamiliar room. Unfamiliar greyish-blonde walls, an unfamiliar wardrobe standing slightly ajar…

But the one lamp on the desk which they had illuminated upon entering the room after dinner was still on, and it was easy to see her surroundings. The disorientation dissipated, and "Oh, right," set in.

She turned over, just to make sure that the whole thing hadn't been a dream; clearly the room existed, but was _he_ there as well?

He was. He lay on his stomach, arms under the pillow, slumbering quietly, facing away.

 _From this angle, he could be anyone,_ she thought.

But no. She knew who he was, with perfect clarity. She could never mistake him for anyone else, ever, in all of time and space.

She peeled back the bedclothes and stood, locating on the floor a white dress shirt, tailored for a thin man, about six-foot-one. It felt cool when she pulled it on, and she swore it smelled the way love was supposed to. She fastened two buttons and made her way over to the armchair where her purse had been deposited. She flipped open her phone. According to the illuminated readout, it was 3:48 a.m. By her estimation, they had only been asleep for an hour and a half – two hours at the most.

She switched off the lamp and prepared to return to bed, but as she contemplated that warm patch of sheet beside the most exciting man in the universe, something overcame her… something like disbelief. Something a little bit like fear, a bit more like exhilaration, and a lot like self-doubt.

 _What the hell am I doing?_ she wondered. _This is madness. This is never going to work! And even if it did, my short life is a raindrop in the ocean to someone like him…_

But she couldn't help but play back scenes from just a few hours before. Tangling limbs, heavy breaths, pleasure that was complete and desperate all at once, if such a thing were possible… she just stood and stared. Right there, in that bed. Between those sheets, these four walls. Her skin, his skin, brewing passion like she had never experienced and…

He stirred.

Her reverie had been so deep and poignant, just the sound of his inhaling made her heart leap into her throat, and she scurried into the loo. She thought she might die of embarrassment if he were to turn over and find her just standing there, staring at him.

She felt silly, but felt nonetheless. She leaned on the sink with both forearms, and waited for her heart to stop pounding.

She chuckled at herself. "Smooth, Martha. Very mature," she whispered.

But she couldn't shake off the memories harboured by her body. His hands on her, his breath against her neck. The muscles that had strained as he'd held her down, and then released her, making her coil up, cry out and climax over and over again. The exact width of his hips as squeezed between her thighs, the texture of his tongue in her mouth and on her neck…

"Martha?" he said from the other side of the door.

Again, she was startled. Her thoughts had dragged her once more into a fog, and she'd been feeling her body responding in kind – she couldn't stop it.

"Yes?" she called out, her heart thudding anew.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you just… hanging out in the dark?" he asked.

She looked about, and realised she'd forgotten to turn the light on.

"I suppose I am," she said with a chuckle, moving toward the door.

When she pulled it open, she found him standing there in only a pair of boxer shorts. They were frozen for a few moments, just staring at each other, in the scant light allowed in at the corners of the drapes.

He reached up and stroked her hair, then took her by the jaw with both hands and kissed her. "Come back to bed," he commanded, all deep, breathy and ragged. He never moved his hands from her face.

"Okay," she whispered.

But neither of them moved. They just stared into one another in the dark.

Neither of them spoke then either. Instead, he kissed her again, this time rather forcefully, taking her a little off-balance. She stumbled a bit, then compensated by moving to her left, where she knew a wall would catch her. And suddenly she found herself pinned. His tongue probed her mouth frantically. She did her best to keep up, but found that she was being swept away in the tides of desire once more.

The fire from earlier had just barely gone out, and now it was all alight again. The groans in the dark, the desperation, even the cold hard wall... she felt herself melting and giving in. Not that she'd be very likely to resist now for any reason, but every ounce of clarity she had recuperated in her post-lovemaking reflection was now gone. Her body was pliant again under the manipulation of _this_ singular man.

And he knew it. He pulled away from her mouth and kissed and licked just behind her left ear, and hissed, "Are you still wet?" It was as stark a query as any ever put to her, and frankly, it sounded like someone else's voice.

But the question sent a jolt through her, and ensured the answer. "Yes," she whispered. "Assume from now on that the answer is always _yes._ " She felt so helplessly undone in so little time, that even _this_ didn't sound like the correct voice to her. It certainly didn't sound like something she would say ordinarily…

"Good," he growled, pressing his pelvis against her, practically biting her neck now. He was hard and ready. "Because it's you and me now, Martha."

"Yes," she whispered, barely hearing him.

"We belong to each other," he said, now attacking her mouth again. He spoke in between agitated kisses. "We have to. We'll just shake off the past and move forward together… no fiancés in Africa, no-one crossing from parallel dimensions. Not anymore."

"Yes," she repeated.

"We do this together," he insisted, still his voice rumbling and breathy in the dark.

He reached down all of a sudden and pushed his pants' waistband down just far enough to free his hardness from any confines. He grabbed Martha around the waist and pressed up, and she lifted her feet off the floor, allowing him to prop her up. She wrapped her legs around him and in one quick stroke, he was inside her again. They both groaned, and he pushed back and forth as though deaf and blind to the whole world.

"You and me," he breathed in her ear. "Just us – finally."

"Mm," she replied tightly, her body demanding her attention just now.

He pressed his hands flat against the wall behind her and thrust into her breathily, repeating her name over and over again. Occasionally he kissed or bit her neck, and yes, she felt pain. It was glorious and delicious. Her shoulder blades were pressed into the wall unnaturally, as was the back of her head. His body surged against and inside of her so hard that she felt that she was being forced open to a breaking point– and blimey, was it sweet. The pain and the pleasure, the ragged breathing and slippery lust, it all married in one big, explosive, groaning, breathy, pre-dawn fuck in the dark. It felt as though, finally, three years of gut-wrenching angst was getting its rough-hewn due.

"Martha, promise me." The pleasure was mounting in him – she could hear it in his tone. "Promise me it's just you and me. You'll never be with anyone else. We don't let anyone else in…" He seemed to lose his voice for a moment, as he reached some kind of point of no return.

"I promise," she answered, her mind only half present. The sensation was reaching critical mass within her as well.

"Last time, when the universe was ending… it was too much, too many. From now on, we fight alone."

"Okay. We fight…"

"We keep each other's secrets," he managed, straining.

"Yes."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes."

"You are mine, and I'm yours… and never anyone else's…"

"Doctor… yes," she croaked.

He said her name one last time, and then seemed to fall apart. He thrust in so powerfully as his faculties unravelled, she swore she could feel it in her teeth, and they fell into oblivion together. Both came hard and desperately, with a promise and a sparking cry into the dark.

The restaurant, the Armani suit and the high shine had been forgotten and discarded for now, and what they had just experienced was incendiary, self-revelatory and _raw._

* * *

Just a few short hours later, Martha found herself standing in front of the bathroom mirror, once again wearing that crisp, cool, expensive white shirt the Doctor had tossed off the bed. She had it tied around her waist, and underneath it, she wore the black and blue-violet lace and silk dress that he'd peeled off her the night before. She was attempting to pin all of her hair on top of her head with a clip, but it was proving not quite long enough. She had already attempted to remove the evening makeup with a washcloth, but it had proven too stubborn. Eyeliner was now slightly smeared across the side of her face beside her right eye.

The bathroom door was open, so a man in a cotton-poly brown pinstriped suit, standard light-blue dress shirt, tie and Converse slid in and chirped, "Hi."

"Hi," she chirped back. She smiled when she saw what he was wearing. It wasn't Armani, but it was familiar and it was the look she loved. "Mind if I borrow your shirt? I want to call as little attention as possible to this dress."

"Why?"

"Have you ever walked across a hotel lobby in a cocktail dress, and smeared makeup at seven in the morning?"

"Can't say as I have," he answered with an easy smile.

"It's one of the things I've learned from my sister never to do. You get sniggers."

"Oh. Never thought about it."

"I know I shouldn't care, but… well, my mother would care, and so, therefore, must I. Whether I want to or not."

He laughed. "Okay, well… I could just give you a lift home. I've got transport, you know. It's down in the underground carpark. I'll just go down and get it. You don't even have to step out into the hallway."

"Oh," she said. "I didn't even think of that. Thanks, I'd appreciate that."

"Fancy a stroll round the Serpentine after you get changed into something a bit less _morning-after_?"

"Sorry, I have to work today."

"On a Saturday?"

"Yeah," she shrugged. "It's UNIT. Alien activity doesn't take a week-end."

He frowned. "Clearly. Well, don't you get any time off during the week?"

"Of course," she said. "Monday and Tuesday are my days off."

"You know," he said, silkily, sliding his bum across the marble counter to fix himself in front of her. "If you took that promotion, you could set your own schedule."

"Yes, I could," she agreed with a wide smile.

"And you could delegate a lot of responsibility," he continued. "It would free you up for…"

"For?"

He hesitated, narrowing his eyes. He have a wry smile. "I wasn't dreaming, right? All of that stuff last night really happened?"

She smiled. "Yes. Sorry."

"Even the early-morning bit?"

" _Especially_ that bit," she answered, blushing. Then, she switched tone. "Okay, I see what you're saying."

"Something to think about. You'd be at the same level as Mace, you could have your say at a high level, delegate the actual squadron-running duties, at least part-time, and you'd have a direct line to the Brigadier. And you'd be able to travel with me as much as you want."

"That's true, I would," she agreed with a contained smile.

* * *

The two of them walked out of the TARDIS and into her parlour.

"Nice," the Doctor said, looking about. "It's like a grown-up's flat."

"That was the idea," she sighed. Then she frowned. "Sometimes I don't feel like a grown-up, though."

"Being a grown-up is overrated."

"So," she said, with a smile. "Will you be about tonight?"

"Absolutely," he said with a nod.

"Good. I'll be home around six. Maybe you could, I don't know, pick up a pizza and meet me back here?"

He smiled. "Sounds perfect."

She saw something fragmented in his eyes, something just below the surface that he wasn't saying. It made her instantly paranoid.

"What's wrong?" she wondered.

"Just a bit knackered… didn't sleep much. It's fine."

"Knackered? You once told me that you need a quarter of the amount of sleep that a human needs. And you're _knackered_?"

"It's been an interesting month."

She felt something like a brick settle into her stomach. "Doctor, if you're having second thoughts about me, about…"

"No, no, Martha," he corrected. "Stop right there. It's nothing like that. Don't worry about it."

"Okay," she said, withdrawing a bit. "Everything in its time, right?"

"Yes," he agreed. "Very wise."

They kissed and re-affirmed their plan for the evening, the TARDIS de-materialised from the parlour, and Martha trudged up the stairs to shower. She placed the Doctor's white shirt in the special bin she kept for items that needed dry-cleaning, then dropped her dress in as well. Her undergarments were in her clutch purse, which she had absentmindedly left downstairs on the sofa beside her shoes. She made a mental note to retrieve them after her shower.

* * *

A full twenty minutes later, she emerged from the steamy bathroom, wrapped in a soft lavender towel, and her hair wrapped up in a matching one. She felt somewhat renewed, but there was still the question of _what was bothering the Doctor?_ The last thing a woman wants to see on _the morning after_ was an uneasy, uncertain look on the face of her tight-lipped lover.

She had resolved to coax him into speaking frankly about it tonight over pizza.

She went to the large wardrobe and opened it, looking for a pair of innocuous black trousers, and as per dress code for someone in her position at UNIT, a shirt with no writing nor non-UNIT-related emblems. She had a nylon maroon fitted tee-shirt in mind for today, but she didn't immediately see it. She lost patience after a couple of cursory glances through her clothing repertoire. So, with a frustrated grunt, she took hold of the very last piece of clothing (a brown corduroy blazer) on the left, and pulled it to the right, intending to thumb through each garment one-by-one.

And that's when she saw it. Sitting in the left-hand corner at the back of her wardrobe, right where she had left it, several months ago.

The Eustarus. The fail-safe. The Plan-B, just in case the Last of the Time Lords went rogue. A self-contained field of hyper-gravity, ready to crush the almost-literal _living hell_ out of the man she loved.

She stared at it, and something sickly was hitting her very close-to-home as she did.

It had been entrusted to her in what felt like a different time; it had been a different paradigm for her, certainly. Could it be that given everything that had happened, especially in the last twelve hours, it now felt _wrong_ for her to have it, particularly without his knowledge? She and the Doctor were now embarking on something new, something that he had made her promise was _just for them_ … would it do to have a powerful weapon that she could use against him alone, squirrelled away here in her bedroom? Not to mention, there was a good chance he might someday run across it, should he perhaps decide to keep a few clothes in her flat.

But that wasn't it. The secrecy wasn't the problem. Because, when she thought about telling him about it, she began to feel fear.

What the hell was _that_ about? Never had she been _afraid_ of the Doctor. So when she pictured the exchange that would ensue after she confessed that she had it, why did she imagine ice-cold rage in his eyes?

Her breathing sped up, and she leaned forward, lifting the item. Beneath it, there was an envelope that contained, she knew, a few sheets of blue paper that she had been asked to destroy. Dr. Larry Fortis, on the day the Eustarus had been given to her, had warned her to memorise the text, then burn the document. Yet, here it was. Unburned, and unmemorised.

She forced herself to open and read it, hoping that what she remembered of it was incorrect.

 _Outside of the ninety-hour window before or after regeneration, during which time, behaviour can be expected as erratic, measures should be considered, should the Doctor exhibit extreme change of attitude or opinion, accompanied by embellishment and/or accessories to the change._

Her stomach nearly sank to her shoes.

Had she not just witnessed the Doctor exhibiting an extreme change of attitude and opinion? If last night's performance wasn't an indicator, she didn't know what was.

For three years, he had actively resisted and rejected anything she had to offer him, other than friendship and help saving worlds. And yet last night, hadn't he gone to _great_ lengths to impress and/or seduce her? He had behaved wholly unlike himself for almost the entire evening – an expensive suit, an incredible restaurant, a muted, sophisticated demeanour, and of course, the posh hotel room…

…and for what? Of course, she knew the answer. To get her up to the room and into bed.

But that wasn't like him either! Even if his sudden affection for her could be believed, was he really the sort to try and sweep her off her feet and onto her back, all in one night?

She felt foolish. He'd pulled out all the stops, _embellished_ the change, and she'd fallen for it.

"Damn it," she whispered.

He even gave her an _accessory_. An iPhone, equippedwith universal roaming. It was a beacon of _him_ now, a symbol of their relationship, his pursuit and capture of her.

She read on.

 _Extreme anti-social behaviour or overtly social behaviour._

Was he being overtly social? He'd reached out to her in a big way, looking for a type of companionship from her that he never had before. He'd put himself on the line and asked for her love in his life. These are steps he would never have taken before.

And then her mind went to the raw desperation of their early-morning shag. Her body responded with a surge of desire, and she forced it down. Their coupling had been dark, immediate, closed-in, and all their own. _His_ own, really. He hadn't even given them a chance to walk three steps to the bed before he'd pinned her to the wall, claiming her between himself and a hard place. And he'd made her promise that their union was just for them, and no-one else. No Tom, no Rose, no Donna, Jack, Sarah-Jane, Mickey, nor anyone else… just them. Keeping secrets and fighting together.

Since when did the Doctor reject friendship in favour of a discreet bond with anyone? Was this not extremely anti-social? In a grandiose, possessive sense?

 _Insidious manipulation of large-scale channels of power or control._

She gulped. He had asked her to dinner and begun the whole knee-weakening scene after hearing that she had a direct line to the Brigadier, who was still influential within UNIT, and that she had offered her a promotion. And, he was awfully keen for her to accept it.

What could the Doctor do with an underhanded whisper in the ear of the Brigadier? If he could reduce Martha Jones to putty in his hands on a nightly basis and murmur to her in the dark, and have her pass along those ideas, he could overhaul UNIT from the inside, without anyone knowing he was behind it. He could possibly accomplish changes in by-laws via the Brigadier's influence, and remove weapons he deems 'overkill machines' from the armoury. He could, over time, re-direct the primary goals of the organisation, and divert attention to wherever he wanted it. He might be able to finagle a UNIT alliance with the Shadow Proclamation, which was something he'd mentioned in passing last night during dinner, and she'd been too starry-eyed to realise what he was saying. (Alliances with extra-terrestrially-based organisations had always been forbidden under UNIT's government charter; it was deemed too risky and also somewhat counterproductive.) Gradually, if he played his cards (and her) right, he could be in at least indirect control of all human-to-alien relations. This would be huge, as UNIT began to put its feelers out into space exploration (projected for the year 2028). Who knew what he could do, once that happened? The Brigadier would be gone, but he would have left a legacy… and there would be Martha Jones in a high-ranking position.

If Martha had her finger on the pulse of Lethbridge-Stewart, and therefore the organisation, plus a promotion that allowed her to override (or at least side-step) Colonel Mace, and she kept their relationship a secret as she now realised was the goal of the whole _swear to me_ business this morning…

"Oh my God," she groaned, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

Something had gone wrong with the Doctor. Perhaps his sanity had begun to turn on its ear when he'd lost Donna. And now, he was manipulating her, using her. Plying her with sex and promises.

She shuddered.

Trying to remain calm, she stood up and made her way down the stairs. She picked up her clutch purse and reached inside. The first thing that came out was the new iPhone, ready to use. Though, for all she knew, the Doctor had a tap on it.

She searched again, and found her regular mobile phone. She sat on the sofa absently, and stared at it in her hand. She supposed he could have a tap on this one too, but she decided to take the chance.

She didn't want to jump the gun; she knew that she was emotional, and it wasn't good to act rashly at a time like this… perhaps she should wait? At the end of the day, she still _loved_ him, even to her own detriment. She didn't want to throw him to the lions.

But a rogue Time Lord, if that is, indeed, what she had on her hands, could destroy planets in one fell-swoop – in fact, _this_ Time Lord had. He was a volatile man, she knew this. She had seen first-hand the fire inside, the rage and fear and how it manifests. He could gather information and momentum so quickly it would dizzy her – how could she _wait_ to report?

She felt daunted and lonely when she thought about being the only human being who knew to contemplate this problem. How could she, alone, conquer the question of what to do with the Doctor if he was going mad?

If Donna were available, she would call. Or even Rose. She thought briefly about phoning Jack, but she'd have to explain her suspicions and then wade through forty minutes of questions about the Doctor's lovemaking prowess before she could get to any substantive conversation… not to mention, she might lose her job for sharing this with Torchwood before reporting to UNIT.

But UNIT – they were trigger-happy sometimes. It was one of the things the Doctor found infuriating about them. They could be as volatile as he.

Was there anyone she could trust within UNIT, not to freak out until further notice? And also not judge her for her actions, should she be required to reveal how and why she came by her knowledge?

She reckoned there might be. She dialled.

"Dr. Fortis," she said. "It's Martha Jones. I have reason to believe that I may have to detonate the Eustarus soon. Now listen…"

* * *

 **So... how ya feelin'? Leave me a review and let me know! :-D**


	8. Chapter 8

**A propos of the previous chapter, "snigger" is a legitimate word, according to the good people at Merriam-Webster, and it is used correctly in my story. :-) ("Snicker" would ALSO have been okay!)**

* * *

 **A propos of THIS chapter:**

 **Gear switch. I suppose that's the Doctors prerogative. Maybe? Take what you will from it, I suppose. :-)**

 **Lots of dialogue. A few feels.**

 **Oh, and cliffhanger. Heh.**

 **Reviews = love!**

* * *

EIGHT

To her relief, when she arrived at work, late, just like last Wednesday, no-one accosted her with questions. She simply logged in and set herself to work.

This was good. It probably meant that Larry Fortis had kept his mouth shut. She had been right to trust him; he was a "fan" of the Doctor's, and seemed like he had a greater sense of nuance than the average UNIT wonk. To activate the Eustarus without being completely certain of the circumstances, Fortis would likely be almost as reluctant as she.

She went to her exam room, opened her e-mail, acknowledged or answered those sent with "high-importance" tags, then opened her file-share application. She reckoned she'd continue working on UNIT's investigation of a possible alien-infiltration operation at a vineyard in Northern France. New information since yesterday afternoon revealed that one of the suspects had submitted to a chest x-ray. She opened the digital image and it looked completely normal to her, though she'd get a second opinion from a pulmonologist. This meant that they'd likely have to send operatives into the vineyard to pose as workers, to observe the suspects' behaviour and proceed from there. They'd need at least one M.D. in the mix – it would likely be her. She sighed.

She began researching precedents for this type of alien infiltration, trying to determine objectively whether an undercover investigation was really necessary. She needed to draw level-headed conclusions based on multiple medical documents issued in the different cases. She decided to open the report she herself had written concerning the robot-like drones in the Atmos factory that seemed to work twenty-four hours a day with no breaks nor signs of fatigue. And as if on cue, her new iPhone rang.

She hadn't even really been aware she'd brought it. She'd probably swept it into her shoulder bag without realising it, once she'd looked at the time and begun to rush toward getting out the door.

Only one man in the universe had the number. She had no illusions about who was calling

"Hello?"

"Hi. I forgot to tell you earlier that I love you, so I thought I'd call."

In spite of her caution, it made her heart skip a beat. Her stomach fluttered and she couldn't help but smile.

"I love you, too," she responded, though her mouth went a little dry. Come what may, she wanted him to know it. More so today than ever.

"Well, that's it. I don't want to keep you. When is your lunch hour?" he asked.

"I dunno. Maybe 12:30. Why?"

"Fancy meeting up?"

"Er, all right. Aren't you afraid you'll get sick of me?"

"Never," he replied, quite seriously. Then, "There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

"The promotion?"

"No. I just want to see you."

"What? Really?"

"Yes! Is that so wrong?"

"No," she chuckled. "Not wrong at all." Though given her current state of mind, she wasn't so sure.

"This morning. I behaved… bizarrely."

"Oh. Well, I'm really not complaining."

"Still. I want to smooth things over. Start the day again, maybe."

"Well, I liked how the day started, but I'm never going to decline a lunch invitation with you."

"The TARDIS is parked on the Embankment in front of the Tower. Can you be there at 12:35?"

"You're on the Embankment right now?"

"Well, not really. I'm actually in the Tower Bridge visitor's centre."

"What are you doing there?" she asked, with a smile.

"Just never been here. I watched them build the Bridge, but the visitor's centre seems to have popped up overnight! Didn't realise it was even here until a few months ago. Just thought I'd check it out, since I'm in the neighbourhood with time to kill."

"Okay, then," she laughed.

"I'm using their courtesy phone. I didn't know they had courtesy phones, did you?"

"Er, no, it never occurred to me to wonder."

"I didn't know anyone had those anymore, in your time."

"Again, never gave it much thought."

"So… 12:35?"

"I can be there." Then, "Doctor, are you okay? I mean, really."

"I feel like a wire that's been yanked out of the wall and is sparking at the end."

"So… agitated, then?"

"Agitated, incomplete, volatile. Like I've done, or could do, some damage. To you, I mean."

"To me?"

"Yeah, I'm just uneasy. Like I said, sparking cord. Nowhere for the energy to flow. If I could see you and make things right, then my charge could be neutralized. Whoa, now... _that_ was a _disastrous_ thing to say. How university-poetry-student of me."

"Perhaps, but I got the message. You need me to plug you in."

"Okay, now you're just being adolescent," he teased.

She chuckled. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Okay."

* * *

In most places, the TARDIS was hard to miss. Including in bustling London, on a stretch of ground absolutely crawling with tourists.

Martha walked out of the Tower of London on the Traitor's Gate side and immediately her eye was drawn by an eight-foot-tall blue box that none of the passers-by seemed to notice. Beside it, against a waist-high safety railing, there leant the familiar silhouette of a man she knew well. He seemed oblivious to the milling of humanity around him, and to be staring tranquilly at the Thames.

In the twenty seconds it took her to walk across the pavement to meet him, she marvelled at the twists and turns she had taken through life with him.

Just a little more than two years ago, she'd been a lovesick medical student who simply could not shake off an all-consuming crush on this man. Crush, or whatever you call it when you can't sleep at night, for thinking about every detail of someone's person, manner, movements, speech, and what it would be like to have them touch you. For his part, he liked her fine, but had no idea (or at least pretended not to know) that she harboured feelings so strong, they had driven her on a forward trajectory around the Earth, and ultimately out of his world.

Three months ago, she'd finally been in a position to see him again with almost no thought given to their lopsided past. She was, ostensibly, in love with someone else. She could be with the Doctor, work by his side, become friends with his new Companion, let him rescue her, and nearly watch him go to his death without the old feelings flaring up. She had even met the storied Rose Tyler, and had managed to feel _happy_ for the two of them, having found one another again! She saw this as tremendous growth, on her part.

And until four days ago, she was in that same space. Until, in the pretentious coffee shop last Wednesday, she had told him that Tom had broken up with her, and she really wasn't that upset about it. The Doctor's response had been _to swoop in_ and snap her up for himself! It was the last thing she had been expecting, and mission accomplished: she'd been well and truly swooped. Right off her feet. Literally.

Twelve hours ago, they were tangling sheets together, wrapped in a fog of sighs and moans and small explosions. The feelings all conflated in, it seemed, everything she had ever wanted. She had watched him pull out all the stops to give her the perfect evening, of dinner, dancing and lovemaking… and even a bit of a commitment. She had been flying so high, she couldn't see the ground.

And then, about five hours ago, she had come crashing down, as she began to suspect what had been happening for the last four days. Now, she was right back where she started: in love with a man who had a completely different agenda.

She sighed. She reckoned, _done it before, I can do it again._

Only this time, she had to be careful. She was beholden to UNIT, and therefore, the world. And the Doctor was powerful. And could be slippery at times.

* * *

"Hi," he said as she laid her hand on his shoulder. He stood up straight, then bent at the waist and planted a chaste kiss upon her cheek.

"Hi," she reciprocated. "Long time no see."

"Oi, for all you know I've been gone for four hundred years."

"Have you?"

"Course not."

She chuckled. "Okay. Glad we had that discussion."

"Well," he said, his face registering a barely-contained smile. "If you wait here, I'll get lunch."

"Er, okay."

He disappeared inside the TARDIS for about fifteen seconds, and emerged with a picnic basket and two glass Coca-Cola bottles in his hands. He handed one to her and led her down the embankment about fifty feet to a bench that faced the Tower. They settled upon it, and he pulled out a plastic container full of melon cubes, and two plastic forks. He also produced two sandwiches, two small bags of crisps and four lemon-sugar biscuits.

"I also have tea brewing on the console, if you'd like some after lunch," he said.

"Thanks!" she exclaimed, unwrapping her sandwich. "I'm famished. Didn't have breakfast. Except, like, eighteen cups of coffee after I got to work."

He took a large bite of his cheese and pickle, and said, "Yeah, we kind of forgot," with his mouth verily stuffed.

She sampled hers; it was turkey and Swiss with cucumber and hummus. Her quirky favourite, clearly hand-made by him.

"So," he sighed, after taking, chewing, then swallowing his second bite. "Thanks for meeting me." His tone was earnest.

"Whoa," she said, commenting on his tone. "Are we having lunch together, or are you selling me insurance?"

"Sorry. But as I said, I do have an objective here. I wanted to apologise, and I didn't want to wait until tonight. I wanted us to have a nice time tonight. If you still want to."

"Of course I still want to," she said, also working on her second bite. "But there's no need to apologise."

"Yeah, there is," he insisted. "That thing I did this morning, before the sun came up…"

"…against the wall?" she asked, lowering her voice so no-one would hear. As if anyone were listening to them anyway.

"It was kind of… well, a bit on the outside."

"Yeah, it was a bit. In the best way possible. You didn't notice me protesting, did you?"

"No," he shrugged. "And it's not even so much the act itself, it's the stuff I said."

"Oh. That."

"Yeah, that. I'm sorry, I just…"

"…got carried away?"

She winced. She hadn't wanted to put words in his mouth; she had wanted to see how this would play out, if he was going to change his game.

He held his breath for a few moments, then exhaled noisily. "Pretty much. Carried away. I was acting proprietary, and… well, that's not at all how I see you. You don't have to pledge never to leave me. You don't have to say that you belong to me. You don't even have to be in a relationship with me, come to that!"

"What?" she asked, a little confused.

"You could walk away again, and I wouldn't judge you. I would never judge you. And frankly, I wouldn't blame you."

"Doctor, stop it. You were speaking in the heat of the moment," she said, now shrugging herself. "I get it. _Heat of the moment_ is why I went along with it."

"Yeah, well," he mumbled. "I should have kept my wits about me. I feel like an arse."

"If we don't have some heat in our moments, then what is the good of life?"

He took a pause, and seized the opportunity to look her over with what looked like admiration in his eyes. "Well said, indeed, Martha Jones."

"Thanks. And also… I didn't mind. I _wanted_ to agree with you."

"Wanted to?" he asked skeptically.

"I've waited a long time for that kind of attention from you." She didn't make eye contact. As it happened, she stared at the rim of her Coke bottle.

"I know," he said, almost inaudibly, stopping his chewing. He matched her stance and stared down at his sandwich. "But you shouldn't have to pledge your eternal soul to me to get it."

"Okay," she said. "Would it make you feel better if I accepted your apology?"

"Yes."

"Then I accept it," she said, putting her hand over his.

He rested his elbow on his knee and pulled his hand over his face. "Oh, Martha, that's not it. At least, that's not all. The whole bloody thing was just appalling."

"The _whole bloody thing_? What thing?"

"The evening. And this morning."

"Appalling, then. In what way?" she wondered, her stomach turning over.

"Okay, look, cards on the table, all right?"

"All right."

"I realise that I made it so difficult for you to… _extricate yourself_ last night."

"What, with the fancy restaurant and the fancy suit, and the fancy hotel and the fancy iPhone?"

"Yeah. Talk about heavy-handed. I feel like I might as well have chained you to the bedpost."

"If I hadn't been all right with it, I would have said so. Yeah, you laid it on pretty thick, but it's not like I did anything I didn't want to do."

He ploughed through her comments. "I'm sorry that I made you tell me that you're mine. I'm sorry that I tried to pressure you into taking that promotion. It was for selfish reasons. I reckoned I could have you travelling with me, then not have the guilt of having forced you to quit your job. I was being a prat. Just… take the promotion, or don't. It's your choice, which you already know… but I'm saying… either way, I've got a time machine, so it doesn't matter if you've got responsibilities. Am I getting it all wrong again?"

"Doctor…"

"I'm sorry for being such a child this morning, and not telling you what was on my mind. I clearly was uneasy about something when we were saying goodbye in your flat. I made you worry, because I was too much of a squalling baby to just say it. Say what I'm saying now. That I'm sorry. I wish I could start again and be myself, but I can't." He turned and faced her, setting his sandwich down, and taking her wrists in his hands. "Martha, that's all I was thinking this morning when I dropped you at your flat… I swear. I am _not_ having second thoughts about you, about us, about how we spent our night, about any of it. I love you, and I just want to move forward, like…"

"Okay, then," she said, loudly. "Then why don't we?"

"Why don't we what?"

"Move forward. Stop apologising. Stop whatever doom and gloom is going on inside that incredibly handsome head of yours. In the first place, the evening was perfect. And making it hard to _extricate myself_ , deploying every weapon in your arsenal, pushing all of my buttons in just the right way… it's what seduction is all about. And seduction is part of relationships, part of survival, part of being human… or at least an honest hot-blooded being. It was glorious. I will never forget it as long as I live, and I mean that in a good way.

"And in the second place," she continued. "In spite of your being the universe's foremost expert on going back in time, there is nothing that we can do about the past, in this case. Let's just look ahead, and be happy, eh?"

"Okay," he said with a smile, feeling sheepish.

"But look ahead, Doctor, knowing that the beginning of all this – last night, I mean – was bloody amazing. Like fairy-tale amazing. Well, a fairy tale with sex."

They both chuckled.

She ended with, "I wouldn't have had it any other way. Honestly."

And she was being honest.

Another shift had taken place. The Doctor had acknowledged the weirdness, the foreignness of it all. He had apologised for not trying to be himself as he wooed her, which comforted her, even though she had thoroughly enjoyed the polished wooing. He was open and confessional, contrite, nervous and it meant that he was aware, at least on a basic level, of how it must all look to her. In addition, he had taken back what he'd said about the promotion.

Oddly, in truth, the whole affair was Vintage Doctor. She had said last night that she relished in the _not-normal_ of him and his lifestyle. When the Doctor got all suave and started displaying his metaphorical peacock feathers like a regular guy, that itself could be categorised as _not-normal_. Which made her wonder, how the hell could anyone be qualified to know when the Doctor was acting strangely enough to warrant a use of the fail-safe?

Was it really so hard to believe that he had changed his mind about her? Perhaps she had overreacted just a bit.

 _Good job I didn't talk to anyone other than Fortis about this,_ she told herself, with cautious relief.

And then, before she could change her mind, she said, "Doctor, in the spirit of smoothing things over… I need to tell you something."

"What?"

She sighed. "As much as I enjoyed everything about last night, this morning, I was having serious doubts."

"Okay," he said, a bit cautious of his tone. "I suppose that's to be expected."

"But I thought…" she hadn't considered thoroughly how she would phrase this.

"You thought what?" He examined her face, and saw worry and a slight hint of fear. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"Honestly, I thought something had gone wrong with you."

"Gone wrong?"

She sat forward a bit, as though better to concentrate on her words. "I spent so much time offering myself to you – at least inside my own mind. You knew, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I knew."

"And you spent all of that time deflecting me. Rejecting me. You made it very clear that you didn't want what I had to give, and so we were doomed to friendship. I thought forever."

"Right."

"And then suddenly, you've packed up Rose and shipped her off to be with someone else, you have this foundation-shattering thing happen with Donna and just as suddenly… you want me. You've what? Just out of nowhere, changed your mind?"

"Not out of nowhere, Martha. This came very much out of _somewhere_."

"Well, I believe you. But you have to understand how, in retrospect, it all looked very strange. Looking at last night and our early-morning adventure through the clearer eyes of morning… think about that."

He took a deep breath and sat back against the bench. "I guess I can see how it might look like I'd gone slightly off the rails."

"Literally _years_ of rejection, then suddenly… dining, dancing, Armani, an invitation to travel again and to top the whole thing off… life-altering sex. Twice. So, I'm okay with all of it, Doctor. It was fantastic in the moment, and it's a fantastic memory which I will always cherish, no matter what happens. But yeah, I thought it was very possible, at the very least that…" She wanted to be totally honest now, but something was holding her back. She reckoned she'd better say _something_ quick, and that there would be plenty of time for complete honesty later.

"That I'd had a neurological event?" he asked with a smirk.

"A stroke? Do Time Lords have those?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "But I didn't."

"No, I didn't think you'd had a stroke. I thought you'd been thrown so far for a loop that you were just… maybe clinging to something. Clinging to anything. You'd had to give up Rose and Donna, Tom was out of the picture, suddenly I looked good to you. I was comfy and familiar. And once you woke up to the light of day, you'd remember that you don't really feel that way about me."

He smiled lightly. "Well, Martha, the sun is up, and I'm still smitten. And I didn't _have_ to give up Rose. I chose to."

"Okay."

"You're thinking the worst of yourself. I'm not just clinging to anything I can. It's about _you._ And you are worth every bit of trouble I went to in preparing for last night. It was a pleasure, in fact. And you are worth every hour of torture I've spent over the past three months wishing I hadn't rejected you so many times. You're worth every shrill earful I took from Donna, calling me a coward and telling me to pick up the bloody phone and call you, and tell you everything."

"Donna? Really?"

He nodded. "She was the brightest of us all in her way. She had a tremendous EQ – bigger than anyone I've ever known."

"Emotional Quotient? Yes, I could believe that about her. Sort of sad that the three of us will never have a chance to travel together. I think we would have made a great team."

"Yeah," he said, quietly.

She regretted saying it, almost immediately.

"Anyway, it seems like last night messed things up for both of us," she said. "But it was the greatest night of my life thus far, and I don't want anyone taking it away from me! Not even you. _Especially_ you! So, let's take it at face value, and move forward, and be happy about making it a part of _us,_ and who _we_ will become. Sound good?"

"Sounds excellent."

* * *

They finished their lunch with laughs and short kisses, and reaffirmed their plan that the Doctor should get a pizza and meet her at her flat after work. They decided on which film to watch, and Martha established, in no uncertain terms, that she fully expected him to stay the night.

So, as six o'clock approached, the Doctor began making his way toward Martha's flat. He decided not to park the TARDIS in her foyer as he had originally thought he would. On second thought, it seemed tacky, and in spite of the TARDIS' usual purpose and prowess, it took up a lot of space when one considered the size of her flat.

Instead, he parked in a favourite, innocuous spot just off New Brompton Road, and he travelled by Tube. He picked up a Tandoori chicken curry pizza with shiitake mushrooms and goat cheese, and two Caesar salads with hand-made dressing. This was the third meal in a row he had planned for Martha; it occurred to him that his agreeing to grab a pizza implied a boring white flour crust slathered with tomato sauce, mozzarella and either sausage or pepperoni from the corner pizzeria. But he reckoned she wouldn't mind – he recalled her having a sophisticated palate. And while he was not going to go all-out, La Cerise Noire-style, he was not about to swing completely to the other end of the spectrum either. He still had a few gentlemanly standards to uphold.

He rounded the final corner, and had a block and a half to go, plus crossing the street, before reaching Martha's flat.

As he got closer, he noticed a vehicle parked directly across the street from her door. It caught his eye because it was large, boxy, almost militant-looking, and inordinately shiny. Plus, it had tinted windows. It was an SUV that looked, frankly, like Darth Vader.

He suddenly felt overcome with a feeling that he didn't like.

The Doctor stopped short, about three-quarters of a block from the vehicle, and held the sonic screwdriver discreetly aloft. He set it to scan for extraterrestrial technology, which UNIT had been known to appropriate from time to time, especially for their field ops.

Surely enough, some signal was coming from the black SUV.

"Oh dear, oh dear," he muttered. "Spying on Martha's flat, are you? What the hell are you UNIT boys up to?"


	9. Chapter 9

**I hope you find this all incredibly frustrating. But also exhilarating! Ah, UNIT. Such efficient idiots sometimes!**

 **Don't forget to leave me a review. Reading your thoughts is the best part of my day!**

* * *

NINE

The Doctor felt exposed. Standing on the pavement in the middle of a city block, his hands full with the most unwieldy of items: a big flat box that needs to be kept horizontal, and an unsealed plastic container of garlicky, gooey, leakable mess balancing on top.

Unsure of what else to do, he dropped to his knees and stashed the pizza and salad under a nearby shrub, absently certain that he wouldn't be coming back for it. If UNIT was spying on Martha for some reason, he wouldn't have it. And that meant, this situation was about to get hairy.

He crawled up to the back of the black SUV parked across from her flat, and extracted his stethoscope from his inside pocket. He pressed the auscultator against the tailgate and listened. He heard nothing. No talking, no music, no blips of equipment.

He modified the device with the sonic, to pick up frequencies, breathing, _anything_ occurring within the vehicle.

He was able to ascertain that someone was in the vehicle chewing and drinking, and that a high-frequency device was being used. It was something small, likely some type of surveillance. And it was on a frequency not used by Earth-based monitoring technology. He didn't know if that meant that someone was waiting for a non-Earth-based entity to show up at the flat, or whether they just _used_ alien tech as standard practise now. Either way, it was bad news; they were waiting for the Doctor, or they were waiting for Martha.

He could handle them, if it came down to it (well, probably), but the idea that someone from UNIT was staking out Martha's arrival home gave him a horrible feeling. Did they want to corner her? Did the operative in the SUV have any weapons? Was he a sniper of some kind? Would she be attacked, killed, tranquilised or kidnapped, without ever seeing what had hit her? And why? What had she done that would piss off UNIT _that_ much?

Well, besides him? But how would they know about that so soon, and why would they care? Had he given UNIT any reason not to trust him recently?

He leaned against the back of the SUV, trying to work out what to do. Briefly, he considered jogging back to the TARDIS, hovering over the neighbourhood, and using proper instruments to measure, and then short out anything (even analogue or mechanical) that they were using. But before he could make any sort of decision, he heard stirring.

The SUV's door opened and a man in a black UNIT special-ops uniform stepped out. The Doctor slithered back toward the pavement so as not to be seen. He watched the man plod across the street, as though he had no suspicion nor fear of being watched.

The soldier extracted a torch from his belt, stood on tiptoe, and shined the light into the front window of Martha's flat, as he peered inside. He then spoke into a radio device clipped to his epaulet. The Doctor couldn't hear him, but he had a few guesses as to what the soldier could be saying.

"No, you don't," the Doctor growled.

He pulled Martha's old mobile phone from his pocket, and checked the time. It was 5:01, and Martha would be leaving work in a little less than half an hour. If there was going to be a squadron waiting for her at her domicile, she needed to know about it, and not come within a mile of it. At least not until the two of them had had time to work out what they wanted, and how to strategise.

He dialled the number to the new iPhone he'd given her, but it went straight to the voice messaging system, without even ringing.

"Of all the times to ignore a call..." he muttered, as he tried dialling her usual mobile number, and the same thing happened. He tried both numbers a second time, with no luck.

He tried dialling the main switchboard at UNIT, and received a _this-number-does-not-exist_ message.

He stared at the phone in his hand with disbelief. Were they actively keeping his calls from coming through?

Of course they were. The Tower of London was completely TARDIS-proof, as they did not want him plundering in, _fixing things_ and flouting protocol without their express permission. It stood to reason that they would also not want his _voice_ getting to the inside, for fear that he would put a stray idea or two in the ear of an operative.

And damn it, they had his phone number. Once Martha had used a UNIT-issue mobile to call that number, which she had done when she'd rung him up for help in the Sontaran debacle, they could trace the number, then detect and deflect any signal coming from that phone into their vicinity. And they could do it, even if he was attempting to reach someone on a private mobile line. This afternoon he'd got through because he'd called from a "land" line – the courtesy phone in the Tower Bridge visitor's centre. Thinking about it, he was actually a bit surprised that UNIT didn't have voice print technology that would cut him off as soon as he said his first syllable.

He made a mental note to rig Martha's iPhone to accept calls from him if she wanted them, even when inside the Tower. Although that operation might require a bit of trial-and-error, and cat-and-mouse with the UNIT technicians.

"Bloody cretins," he hissed as he turned and began running back the 2-3 blocks to the nearest Tesco. He stumbled inside.

"'Scuse me, can I use your phone?" he asked of the, at most, eighteen-year-old clerk. He was a very dark-skinned young man with dreadlocks, which was a look that the Doctor just didn't understand.

"But you've got your mobile in your hand, there, mate," said the young man with a thick cockney.

"It isn't working," he said. "Can I use your phone or not?"

"My phone?" asked the clerk. He pulled his own personal phone from his pocket. "Don't know if I got any minutes left."

"Not _your_ phone, you dolt, the store's phone! Never mind!"

He'd spotted a telephone hanging from the wall near a door marked "Private," and dashed toward it.

"That phone don't dial out," the young man called.

The Doctor cursed yet again and aimed the sonic at it. The phone did, indeed, dial out after that. Martha's phone rang in his year, but just then, a big, beefy finger came across his line of sight and depressed the cut-off button.

"Sir, you can't just come in here and use our store's telephone without permission," the man said. He was a few inches taller than the Doctor and more than a few inches wider. His grey hair stuck straight up.

"I'm sorry, I really am, but it's an emergency," the Doctor insisted. "Can I _please…_ "

"This phone doesn't dial outside the building anyway," said the man whose nametag said Kelvin. "Now, kindly leave the premises, unless you intend on buying something."

The Doctor dropped the receiver and ran out the door. As he did, he distinctly heard the dreadlocked youngster wish him a good day, but he didn't have time, nor the inclination, to respond.

He reckoned now, his best course of action was to try and intercept Martha as she left work. He knew of three different "secret" entrances/exits to the Tower. He didn't know which one Martha used, as he wasn't sure which Tube line she used to get to and from work, but he had to roll the dice and try _something_.

He practically jumped down all the flights of stairs into the nearest Tube station, and practically crawled out of his skin during the forty-five seconds he had to wait for the train to arrive.

He _minded the gap_ at the Tower Hill station a few minutes later when he got off, and headed for the secret entrance to the UNIT base that he knew was accessed through a door in a dank, dirty corner of the station. To his surprise, he was able to sonic his way through the door.

The rest of the security protocols would be trickier, he reckoned. If the Tower was TARDIS- and Doctor's-phone-proof, then why wouldn't it also be sonic screwdriver-proof?

He tried anyway. When he arrived in a small glass cubicle that asked for a handprint, he aimed the sonic at it, and tried to perform an override.

"Error," a mechanical woman's voice said. "Invalid. Please re-submit palm for scanning."

Once again, he tried the sonic, attempting a short-out of the system.

"Error," the voice said. "Machine-failure in process. Pleases stand by."

"Machine failure? Please stand by?" he asked aloud. "I just attacked you with a sonic bloody screwdriver! You should be telling me to stand against the wall with my hands where you can see 'em!"

Within a minute, the computer was back online. "Please submit palm for scanning."

"Very impressive," he muttered. "Po Hilgon technology, if I'm not mistaken?"

It occurred to him that while he was still on the payroll, and the fact that his hand in this particular regeneration had once been severed and he had little idea of its whereabouts between its detachment from his arm and when Captain Jack had come into its possession, he might simply be able to scan his hand-print and get in without any fuss. But then someone at the switchboard would undoubtedly know immediately that he was inside the Tower, and given the circumstances, that would not be good.

Actually, he wasn't entirely sure what the circumstances actually were, and that was the scariest bit.

He changed his tack, and examined the door. It clearly took its commands from the self-repairing computer that had just deflected his attack as though it were equipped with armour (which it was, metaphorically speaking). But the door still had to open, which meant it had moving parts. Which meant, that the right amount of force, in the right vulnerable spot…

He laid his head against the door, and knocked softly to see if it was hollow. Near as he could tell from the resonance, there was a grid of some sort inside, like the door of a cage. _Of course._

But he began to hear voices through the door – both men and women, simple chit-chatting voices that let him know that they were simply leaving. They were just trying to get to the Tube station, and did not expect to find any interlopers in the breezeway.

"Well, I'm sorry for this," he muttered.

When the door opened, six UNIT employees in street clothes were surprised.

"Sir, excuse me…"

The Doctor began to push past them. "Yep. 'Scuse _me_. Sorry."

"Are you new?"

"No, you can't just go through, you have to scan your hand print," said one large-ish man who tried to bar his entry.

"Sorry," the Doctor said, affably. "I, er, I work the night shift. I guess they haven't had time to input my hand print in the system yet." And with that, he tried to pass.

The man barred him again. "But they input that data before they even allow new-hires into the base, specifically to avoid this sort of thing." He looked over the Doctor's shoulder at his co-workers, five people standing about, looking at each other quizzically. The Doctor guessed that these folks were not field operatives, but perhaps secretaries, administrators, scientists… folks who worked indoors. "We'd better call personnel."

One of the workers opened her mobile phone.

"That's really not necessary," the Doctor insisted. "And I'm… I'm late for work already. Couldn't I just…"

The man looked at him with narrow eyes. "No, you couldn't just. There's a protocol."

The Doctor took two paces back and forth then shouted, "I don't have time for any damn protocol!" He gave a good shove, and the big man was knocked off balance enough for the Doctor to run past him and down the hall, round the corner. He was sure they were not field operatives when they did not pursue.

* * *

"But before I would agree to this, sir," Martha Jones was saying to Colonel Mace. "I would have a few conditions."

"Of course," agreed the Colonel. "We would absolutely try our best to accommodate them. The Brigadier is quite keen for you to receive this promotion."

"All right," she said. "May I compile a list, and then e-mail it to you?"

"That sounds fine," he told her. "But of course, I'm not in charge of this. Please cc me, but send it directly to the Brigadier. The personnel department would also need a cc, as well as members of the senior tactical squadron."

She nodded, wondering if she would have a chance to bring it up tonight with the Doctor, and ask him to help her with the list. She wanted to make sure, if she accepted the promotion, that she had plenty of wiggle-room for travel, but still to do a good job. She couldn't delegate _everything_ , she knew.

And that's when the phone on Colonel Mace's desk rang.

"Mace," said the Colonel with the very British stiff-upper-lip.

Nevertheless, he was extraordinarily bad at hiding his feelings and opinions; case in point, after about ten seconds on the call, his eyes bulged and shifted, bird-like, to Martha Jones.

"Are you certain?" asked Mace, now covering, trying not to look at her. "No, no, she's right here."

Martha's ears perked up. She looked at the Colonel with interest, and frowned.

"I understand. Yes of course," he said crisply. "Thank you." Then he cut off the call.

"What's going on?" Martha wondered.

Mace got to his feet behind his desk. "I've just been informed that the Doctor has forced his way onto the premises."

"Excuse me?" she asked with disbelief, and something akin to anger in her voice. She stood up as well.

"He came through the Tower Hill Station entrance, and first tampered with the security equipment, then walked straight past six members of the chemistry division who were leaving for the day – shoving one of them aside so that he could make passage."

"Shoving?"

"Yes, shoving."

"The Doctor doesn't _shove_."

"Well, apparently, he does."

"Okay," she said, measuring her tone. "I just heard you ask this on the phone, so now I'm going to ask you: are you certain?"

Colonel Mace nodded. "Dr. Fortis said it was a man described as about six feet tall with spiky hair, wearing a pinstriped suit and trainers. It would be a _remarkable_ coincidence if _another_ man who met all of those qualities were forcing his way into UNIT headquarters, don't you think so, Dr. Jones?"

"Yeah," she said absently. "I wonder why he would do that." She was musing more to herself than to him.

"I think we both know why he would do that," the Colonel said, his voice having taken a hardened tone.

"No, listen," she said, holding out her hands, as if to say _stop_. "You don't understand."

"Did you or did you not phone earlier today advising UNIT that there was reason to believe the Doctor had gone rogue?"

"I was wrong. The Doctor and I talked this afternoon and…"

"Answer the question Dr. Jones. Did you or did you not phone with an advisory of the Doctor's… _unstable_ disposition?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't think I want to answer that question, Colonel Mace."

His jaw became tight and his nostrils flared. "You have not received that promotion yet, Dr. Jones."

Her jaw dropped. She had always followed his orders before, because she had never seen any reason not to. She had never bothered to wonder what would happen if she refused. She found that she was taken aback by his rather stony, cold eyes.

She swallowed hard. "I… I rang Dr. Fortis," she answered, her mouth having gone dry. "That was meant to be…"

"Well, there are certain measures that need to be taken, as you well know." His tone had returned to normal.

"But I specifically told Dr. Fortis that _I wasn't certain_! It was a suspicion I had, and I… I was wrong!"

He cleared his throat. "You might as well know that UNIT has been on Blue Alert since your call this morning."

"Blue Alert?" she asked.

"A heightened security procedure in anticipation of…" he cleared his throat a second time. "Of the Doctor's agenda clashing with that of UNIT."

"Well, it obviously didn't work very well, if he was able to shove one guy aside and walk right in."

"It's an internal procedure, not a posting-sentries-at-the-gates sort of thing."

"Oh my God," she moaned. "I never meant to put anyone on-alert! It was, as I said, a _suspicion_ of mine, about which I needed more information! That's why I asked Dr. Fortis to keep it to himself for the time being!"

"Come now, Dr. Jones. Lawrence Fortis is beholden to a protocol, as are you," Colonel Mace reminded her. "First and foremost, you are an officer of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce."

"Actually, I am not an officer at all. And who are you to tell me who or what I am, first and foremost?"

"Touché. Nevertheless, you are aware of the demands of the job. In addition, you've been entrusted with the fail-safe, and you agreed to accept the responsibility," he told her. He seemed to adjust his starched uniform, and then he spoke again. "In accordance with Blue Alert procedure, we will need you to detonate."

"No," she said. "Colonel Mace, that would be a huge mistake! Just listen to me…"

"For God's sake, Dr. Jones!" Mace shouted. It was the first time she had ever seen him do so. "The Doctor has _broken into_ UNIT headquarters! We have documents dating back almost forty years stating that _this very scenario_ is proof of the Doctor's disposition!"

"Oh, well, if you have _documents_ that must make it true then!"

"Whether it's true or not, we have a job to do!"

"He has not gone rogue! You are not listening to me!"

" _Insidious manipulation of large-scale channels of power,_ or something to that effect. You've memorised the document, haven't you?"

She chuckled. "No, you're doing the same thing I did. You're taking the situation and twisting it to fit a suspicion," she said. "You need to find him. Better yet, let _me_ find him. I'll bring him in here, he can explain."

"We have no time for an interrogation."

"It's not an interrogation! We'll just ask him!"

"The Doctor, the last of the Time Lords, the most powerful, dangerous and intelligent man in existence, who literally wields the fabric of time and space (whatever the hell that means) has just infiltrated Earth's first and last line of defence against alien threat, and you think that because you have some sort of an erstwhile friendship with him, that he will just… tell you why."

She smirked. "Yes. Erstwhile _friendships_ can be huge motivators."

He narrowed his eyes, searching her. She guessed that he was confused by the comment, and was trying to suss out what the hint of sarcasm could mean. A less black-and-white thinker might have seen the truth immediately, she reckoned. Although Mace was clever; it was probably just a matter of time before it dawned on him.

He cleared his throat again. "I will repeat: Dr. Jones, we will need you to detonate."

"That would be extraordinarily dangerous. Do you want the Doctor crushed by hyper-gravity?"

"No, but…"

"Well, if we unleash that thing on him, and he doesn't have the qualities it's looking for, then that is what may happen. He may be crushed. Or it may turn him rogue; you may be _creating_ the very problem you're trying to solve!"

"What you're saying has not been proven."

"Come on, now! Are you a drone who can't think for a himself? Are you really that much of a slave to protocol?"

His next words came out with a breathless shock, befitting of a man in his position. "Dr Jones, you are being insubordinate! And downright rude! I will give you one last chance to redeem yourself. Detonate the fail-safe. Immediately."

"I will not do that until I find out why the Doctor has broken in," she said calmly. "Because I will grant you that this behaviour, if six members of the chem division can be believed, is… just weird. But I'm not going to put my _erstwhile friend_ in the path of a black hole until I speak to him."

At last, he came around his desk. It was an interesting intellectual exercise, watching Colonel Mace become confrontational. "I should have thought that travelling all that time with the Doctor, and in fact, walking round the world avoiding the Master, should have given you a bit more tactical sense than that. Do you not understand, Dr. Jones, that if you ask him about it, it will alert him to the fact that we are… on-alert? That is the last thing we want! He is very likely breaking into the facility in search of the Eustarus so that he can steal it or destroy it. He may even realise, if _you_ begin talking to him, that _you_ are in possession of it."

"Fine," she said, at last. She turned and went for the door. "I'm going to go find the Doctor. He's going to tell me why he's here, and then I'm going to do what I should have done days ago: tell him that I have the Eustarus."

"I'm afraid that I can't let you do that."

"I'm afraid that you can't stop me."

Mace turned back toward his desk, reached across and wrapped his fingers around the lip of the desktop, right about where he usually sits. Martha heard a loud _click,_ then tried the door. He had locked her in.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" she protested. "This is rubbish! Colonel Mace, you are a _better man_ than this!"

He walked back round the desk and picked up the phone, keeping both eyes on her. He dialled without looking at the keypad.

"Dr. Fortis? Things are not going to plan," he said.

"You're bloody right, they aren't!" she shouted. "Larry, they've got me detained!"

"Quiet, please, Dr. Jones. You're already in enough trouble for insubordination. Don't dig yourself a deeper hole."

She kicked the door and cursed. If only she had walked away two minutes earlier, before the situation had escalated into a power struggle. She should have pretended to comply, got up and headed home as she'd have said she would, then called the Doctor and…

 _Well, coulda shoulda woulda, eh Martha?_

Mace spoke into the receiver. "Dr. Jones is detained, yes," he said. There was a pause. "Well, as I said, things did not go to plan. Yes, yes, it means she didn't want to comply, all right? Now, will you please activate plan B? Agent Vezner is the field now – stationed on Wick Street."

"What? That's my street!" Martha shouted. "You've got an agent staking out my flat? What is _wrong_ with you people?"

"Quiet, please," Mace repeated curtly. To the phone, he said, "Tell him that tactical protocol H is in effect."

"What the hell is that?" she asked.

He ignored the question. "I don't suppose you'd tell us where, in your flat, you've hidden the Eustarus?"

"You're joking, right?"

Back to the phone. "She won't say. Just have him toss the place until he finds it."

"Classy," she commented.

"Yes, I'll hold," Mace said.

She let a pause lapse, then she asked, "If you're breaking into my flat, I have a right to know. What is tactical protocol H?"

"It means that he's to be as non-invasive as possible when he attempts to enter," Mace answered conversationally. "He's to try and pick the locks first, without being seen. No breaking windows or the like, until all other channels have been tried."

"Oh, nice. Well, it's good to know that you'll be invading my living space with the greatest of care."

Mace was not on hold for long. "Yes, I'm still here," he said. Then, "Understood. It is just about six p.m., isn't it? Well, I'm sure he'll do his best. Thank you, Dr. Fortis. Oh, and, have you called for an agent to unlock my office door? Thank you." He put the phone down in its cradle.

"What, is he taking a dinner break?" she wondered.

"No, he's just pointed out that it might be a while, given that the evening commute has begun, and people are bustling about the streets. Your neighbours are coming home just at this time – Agent Vezner is worried about being seen."

"It _is_ hard to be a burglar during the rush hour."

"He's not a burglar, he is acting on…"

"Piss off."

"As you like," he said. Then he sat down in his desk chair to wait.

Martha paced angrily.

After about two minutes, she asked, "You can't even unlock your own office door?"

"Not when the emergency detention system has been activated," he answered with a sigh. "An agent will be here in a few minutes."

"Pathetic," she spat. "The whole lot of you."

But really, she was angry with herself.


	10. Chapter 10

**Oh, things are getting intense. Heh heh. Please review when you finish - reading your thoughts is one of the highlights of my day! *blowing kisses***

* * *

TEN

Three brisk knocks came at the door.

"Colonel Mace?" a booming voice said from the other side.

"Yes?" said Mace, standing from his desk.

"Are you all right, sir?"

"Yes, of course," replied Mace.

"Can you verify the password?" asked the agent at the door.

"Calico," said Colonel Mace. And with that, Martha heard two loud clicks, and then the door was open.

The man to whom the voice belonged took one step inside Mace's office and looked squarely at Martha. He was broad and solid, and looked like he could kill a man with his thumb.

"Colonel, you'll be pleased to know that the Doctor is detained as well." He shifted his gaze to Mace _after_ he finished speaking.

"All right. Thank you for passing that along. Dr. Jones, please follow Agent Houser."

She reckoned she was still detained, and she wasn't about to try and wiggle free of brick-wall Houser. So, without a word, she fell into step behind the agent, and Colonel Mace followed them both. Another armed agent, a female, took up the rear.

"Watch where you're idling that thing, Agent Silver," she heard Mace mutter.

"Sorry sir," said the woman in back. And Martha heard her shift her weapon.

They paraded down the hall, took a couple of twists and turns and finally came to a door that Houser used a card-key to open. On the other side of the door was a boiler-room type area; unmanned, hot, loud. But in it, there was another door. Houser swiped his card again, and the door opened – it was a lift.

The four of them stepped inside, and went down 2 floors. The silence was palpable, and almost as hot as the boiler.

When they stepped off, there was yet another door which required a card swipe. When they went through it, Martha saw the truth of the situation.

"Oh, you _cannot_ be serious," she said, stopping and turning to Colonel Mace. They were now in a hallway of holding cells. "You're actually going to put me in holding?"

She'd thought that she'd be moved to an inner office area, perhaps with Agent Silver, where armed guards sometimes sat with short-term detainees until a situation could be handled.

"Please keep walking, Dr. Jones," Colonel Mace said.

"Martha?" the Doctor's voice rang out from one of the cells. And in that moment, everything within her sank. She and the Doctor were now to be confined to the bowels of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce. Sitting ducks, they were, and some Agent Vezner was very soon going to break into her flat and detonate a weapon that would do who-knew-what to the non-rogue Doctor.

Martha proceeded down the hall backwards, still pleading with the Colonel. "Are you honestly going to toss me in a cell? Half an hour ago, we were talking promotion."

"A lot can happen in a half hour," he answered, his voice quaking. Clearly, he was uncomfortable.

 _And well he should be,_ she thought.

"Martha!" the Doctor called out. "Mace! What the hell are you doing? What is going on?"

They proceeded into the cellblock, and Martha locked eyes with the Doctor. He read defeat in her eyes. It choked him, silencing him.

Martha then looked about, and could see that the Doctor was the only person or thing detained here. She counted eight cells, and only one prisoner – soon to be two. The Doctor was in the third cell on the left, and Agent Houser opened the second cell on the right for her. The female agent stepped toward her and asked her to raise her arms to shoulder-level.

"This is bloody ridiculous," Martha muttered, complying. "I have never seen a more stubborn group of sentient beings in my life! Apart from Sontarans, that is. Do you know what an insult that is?"

"Dr. Jones, please don't make this worse," Mace begged.

The female agent was patting her down, and confiscated the pen that was in her pocket, as well as her key ring and a lipstick.

"Oi! My car key is on that ring!"

"Don't worry, Dr. Jones. Your belongings will be waiting for you in a labelled cubby just outside the door, when you are released."

Houser gestured for her to step through the cell door. "Please," he said.

"And if I refuse?" she asked, crossing her arms belligerently.

"Martha, just do it," the Doctor advised darkly. "They're armed and extremely stupid. That's not a combination you want to screw with."

She took the Doctor's counsel and stepped into the cage. Houser shut it in front of her. The lock fell into place, and Martha thought she had never heard a louder or uglier sound in her life.

Martha stood about a foot back from the bars and looked pleadingly at Colonel Mace. "I can't believe this. How could you, Colonel? If you weren't going to trust me, then why did you hire me?"

"It's not about trust, in the end, Dr. Jones, it's about insubordination."

"Oh, I think it _is_ bloody well about trust!" she protested.

He ignored the comment. "Quite apart from the…" he cleared his throat, perhaps for the four hundredth time that day. "…er, danger already imminent, you have shown yourself to be insubordinate in the face of direct orders. UNIT's charter demands detention until the crisis can be analysed and averted, and your future with the organisation can be assessed."

Her face fell into stony resignation. "I see."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Jones. My hands are tied."

"No, I don't think they are," she challenged, evenly. "I just think you're too much of a coward to use your goddamn brain."

Colonel Mace sighed. "Again, as you like. We'll be in touch, Dr. Jones, as soon as we can be. No-one here has any wish to keep you locked in a cell for a moment longer than strictly necessary." He turned on his heel and looked at the Doctor directly for the first time. "Doctor," he said curtly, nodding, just before leaving through the door they had used to enter.

"Blimey," the Doctor muttered after Mace was gone. "Three months ago, he was trying to salute me. Now I just get a nod? Not even a hello?"

Martha said nothing. She just leaned her back against the bars and seemed to brood. After a minute or so, the Doctor asked, "Are you going to tell me what's going on, or do I have to play twenty questions with you?" When she stayed sullen, he said, "Because, okay, granted, I probably shouldn't have done what I did, but it hardly warrants _this._ I mean, the computer repaired itself lickety-split-like, and it's not like I injured anyone… just shoved a bloke out of my way. And I _am_ supposed to be still on the payroll, am I not? Should I really have to go to those measures just to get into UNIT HQ?"

She didn't say anything for a long time. She had no idea how to begin. She wondered why he'd come ploughing in, but ultimately it didn't matter. It wasn't for her to judge anyhow; this whole thing was her fault.

For lack of any better option, she started with the fact at the centre of all this chaos. "I have the Eustarus in my wardrobe at home."

His eyes widened. "What? Seriously?"

"Yep. Colonel Mace gave it to me just after you dispatched the Sontarans."

"Why?"

"You made the thing yourself. You know why."

"Well, I know what it's for, but… why isn't it in the vault where it belongs?" he asked, with some anger betrayed in his voice.

"It's never been in a vault," she confessed. "They sent it home with Jo Grant all those years ago, and no-one ever told you. When she left UNIT, it went to the Brigadier. And now me."

"But…" his face was contorted into a look of complete confusion and mounting anger. She'd seen that look a thousand times when he'd been disgusted with 'bad guys,' the despots of the universe, selfish scavengers and the like. "Why would they do that?"

"Two reasons. One, because if you went rogue, you'd just force your way into the Tower and take it. Or try to. You wouldn't want anyone turning you good again, so you'd…"

"Do something dumb, like what I did today."

"Yep."

"Damn it," he hissed. "Okay, this whole situation makes more sense now."

She sighed. "Glad you think so."

"But I came looking for _you_. Some UNIT operative is spying on your flat. He was staked out for a while, then he started peering through windows and reporting back."

She nodded. "That must be Agent Vezner."

"You knew about it?"

"Sort of."

He exhaled heavily, thinking about what a mess all of this was. "Well, whatever. In any case, I didn't want you coming anywhere near it, just in case there was a kill order or something - you never know with this lot. I broke in because I needed to warn you, and even though I didn't know which exit you take when you leave for home, I had to try something. I couldn't get through by phone, and…"

"Why not?"

"I reckon they've blocked my mobile's signal from coming in, just like they block the TARDIS from materialising."

"If they have, then it's just since this morning."

"What happened this morning?" he wondered.

"I rang them and told them I thought maybe you'd gone rogue," she replied, in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"You did _what?_ "

"Can I finish what I was telling you?"

"By all means," he growled. His manner had gone hard now, and Martha dared not look up at him.

"The second reason why they sent the Eustarus home with your friends is that it's meant to be in the incredibly prudent care of people who know you well," she told him. "People who know what to look for… you know, if you ever do go over to the dark side."

"I see."

"Someone like me would recognise it when you display unusual behavior, like on the list of possible criteria that you compiled, I assume, when you forged the weapon."

"Unusual behavior."

"For example, it was thought that I would be able to discern, say, when you suddenly change your mind about something you'd resisted for years, and then…"

He took in a short, quick breath as realisation dawned. "Oh, Martha," he moaned.

"Maybe become a bit anti-social, like perhaps trying to keep secrets, trying to keep other people of out what you're doing. Maybe if you began trying to manipulate large-scale channels to power…"

"…like trying to persuade someone I'm secretly sleeping with to accept a promotion with an organisation that could change _my_ access to power on this planet, and possibly others."

"Yeah, something like that," she said meekly. With that, she put her back to the front panel of bars and slid down into a seated fetal position.

"You thought I was using you.'

"Not at first, but by the time I got out of the shower in my own flat this morning… yeah. I thought I was seeing the _true_ light of day."

"And today at lunch?"

"Changed my mind," she said flatly. "You. You changed my mind. You seemed to explain everything that needed explaining. I am now convinced that you are not evil."

"Thanks ever so."

"Yep. Fat lot of good, eh?"

He was silent, in thought. Then, "So when you were talking to me this afternoon about your doubts, about how you were afraid I was just grasping at _something_ , and that this really wasn't about you… you were lying to me. Through your teeth."

"Not exactly," she defended. "I thought I was going to tell you the truth. I really wanted to tell you then what I had done, but something wouldn't let me. My conscience, sense of duty… the part of my brain that was possibly damaged the Italian Riviera rocks when I was five. Thing was, I'd told LarryFortis about you… I believed he'd keep his mouth shut until further notice… silly me, thinking he'd _do_ something he promised to do."

"Who the hell is Larry Fortis?"

"He works in the physics department."

There was another silence. Martha was still seated more or less with her back to him. But she knew him well, and she could hear the sound of his trainers moving across the concrete floor and back - he was pacing. And then a thundering noise startled her, and brought her to her feet. The Doctor had kicked the bars in anger.

"Damn it!" he shouted.

"I'm sorry," she said, tears coming to her eyes.

"Where's the trust, eh, Martha?"

"I trust you, Doctor."

"Sure! You trust me enough to…" he trailed off, and stopped walking. He put his hands on his hips in exasperation. "Enough to… what, make love to you, but not enough to give me the benefit of the doubt about it?"

"No, that's not…"

"Not enough to let me go on existing the following day without crushing me in a black hole? Not enough to think I could actually _love_ you?"

"Doctor, please," she said, now standing in the corner nearest his cell. "You have to understand how new this all is for me. How… _intense_ it was _."_

"Oh, I get it. I get _intense_. I was there, remember?"

"But do you understand how long I'd waited for you to even _notice_ me? How hard I'd wished for it? How slowly, over the course of two years, you broke my heart? And then suddenly we're having a romantic dinner, and then we're in bed together…"

"I told you, it was not _suddenly!_ "

"If you didn't want it to feel _sudden_ then why the hell didn't you say something sooner? Were you really that stymied by Tom Milligan, that you couldn't just _tell me?_ Because if so, that's just insulting."

"What?"

"So, yeah, in my mind, one minute I'm leaving you and you're letting me. The next minute, we're shagging against a wall, and you're making me swear never to be with anyone else! It was like you were a different person! Especially in hindsight. Especially the more I thought in circles and convinced myself."

He chuckled bitterly. "Wow, that was just this morning, wasn't it? You and me, against the world. Against the wall. Feels like lifetimes ago," he commented. "And believe you me, I know about lifetimes ago."

She agreed with him: that brief moment of their lives did feel like years ago, when in reality, it had only been about fifteen hours. But she did not say so aloud.

After a long, rancorous pause during which the tension was tangible, Martha finally said, "Look, Doctor, I didn't mean to try and put this on you. It's clearly my fault, and I'm sorry."

He paced again. "It's just… you know, contrary to popular belief, I actually do have quite a large capacity for love." He sounded like a child who'd been wrongly admonished.

"I know."

"As it happens, I also have an even larger capacity for fear. Which is what fuels my daily life, but sabotages my relationships."

"Doctor, you don't have to explain. This is on me."

"And when I do, _finally_ , martial my powers for good and decide to push through the fear, and actually go into the trenches with someone... with you…"

"I know. It's scary."

"Absolutely terrifying. But that's why you don't go into the trenches with someone you can't trust."

"Yeah," she whispered, while her heart broke again. He might have been grinding once again on the lack of trust that she had shown in him, but more likely, she thought, he was now saying that he couldn't trust _her._ And in her gut, she felt it all ending.

He was standing rigid in the middle of his cell, arms across his chest, scowl etched into his features, not looking at her.

"It took a lot out of me, Martha, just to set the whole thing up. Then, to actually get myself dressed, and be there, interact with you…" he swallowed hard, then continued. "And you walked in, looking the way you did, I _again_ didn't know if I could do it. And not just because of some schoolboy nervousness over talking to a beautiful woman, though there was that. But I'm talking about a millennium's worth of tears and toil and watching every kind of love I've ever had absolutely crash and burn, or just turn to ash.

"But there you were," he continued. "And I'd already made a decision that I was going to honour Donna, and you, and myself, by taking a stab at happiness. So I did."

"I'm glad you did," she croaked.

"And then, the _relief_ when you responded. When the seduction scene went to plan… and not just the sex, but everything. I felt like I could… I don't know, just fall into you. Like I'd worked so hard, I'd used up all of my reserves and couldn't afford to be without you ever again."

"Oh, Doctor," she whispered.

"I woke up in the middle of the night, and you weren't in the bed beside me."

"And you panicked?"

"Just a little. I realised in fairly short order that you were still there, because your clothes were still, well… strewn about. But I did not like the feeling. So when I found you again, all those miles away you'd gone – which is to say, to the loo – well, something in me sort of turned over. I got possessive for a few minutes and felt I needed to claim you again. Which was wrong, and…"

"Doctor, we've been down this road already. It's okay."

He nodded, then looked up at her with sad eyes. "And then..." he began. He walked forward toward the bars, and held on with both hands. "And then, to have all of that dismissed as some kind of ruse... To have you doubt all of those feelings, all of that intensity, all of the fear I had to conquer in order to show you that I love you… To have you undo all of that by saying it was just because I'd gone rogue..."

She couldn't speak. Her eyes were wide, her mouth was slack, her feet were frozen in place.

"To have you turn to some bloke named _Larry_ , instead of talking to me about your doubts…"

She couldn't look at him anymore.

This morning it had made so much sense. But look at them now.

"I can't believe this," she groaned.

"I can't either," he whispered sadly. Then his tone changed. "And to top off this honey of a day, in just a few minutes, I might be turned inside out by a weapon I made myself. Won't that be fun?"


	11. Chapter 11

**A cruel cliffhanger awaits you. Mwahaha. Please leave a review! The more ranting you do, the happier I'll be! ;-)**

* * *

ELEVEN

Just over an hour passed, in which neither the Doctor nor Martha spoke. They did not make eye-contact either, and there was nary a discernible sound reaching them from anywhere in the building. They each sat in their cell with their back to the front bars, and they brooded under the weight of total silence.

They each wistfully realised that barring this little B-road they'd taken, they _should_ be in Martha's flat having pizza, and/or a good snog by now.

Each silently blamed themselves for their dilemma. Martha now knew that the burden of carrying the Doctor's secrets was one that she had accepted sometime the previous night when she'd given herself over. And it should supersede any "affirmative" she'd given to Colonel Mace. After all, who did she trust more, at the end of the day? She had let Larry Fortis hear her innermost thoughts because the possibility of a Dark Side Doctor was too much for her to bear alone; in other words, for selfish reasons. She cursed herself. For God's sake, she'd walked across the planet for this man… she couldn't wait a few days to find out if his odd behaviour was just… odd behaviour?

The Doctor was not blind, and had no want of self-awareness. As his temper cooled, and the silence gave him perspective, he could see where Martha had been coming from. His efforts the previous night had been Herculean, especially in retrospect, and the whole episode had been out of character for him. And Martha was right, he had done something that he'd resisted for years, and as far as she knew, it _had_ come out of nowhere. How was she to know that his ardour had been brewing for months upon months? If he was going to be too much of a damn coward to say anything about it, then how could he expect her to accept it all at face-value when it actually did come at her at full force? No wonder she thought he'd lost his mind.

They each thought, and blamed UNIT for their cursed _protocols_ and their black-and-white view of the universe. They blamed Larry Fortis for blabbing and Colonel Mace for being a brick wall. Martha had made a little mistake, and all that was needed was just a tiny bit of flexibility. They thought about a UNIT officer traipsing through Martha's flat, turning it upside-down looking for the Eustarus. Martha knew the place would be an utter shamble from top to bottom when she arrived home ( _if_ she ever arrived home). She reckoned Agent Vezner would start with the parlour near the front door and work his way back; the device was being kept in her bedroom, which was at the back of the flat, upstairs.

But most of all, they worried over their future together. Because no matter what had happened, no matter the carelessness or meddling that had been done, they loved each other and they reckoned that nothing could change that. And yet, how could they be together? Hadn't all of this been one big, giant wake-up call from the universe?

* * *

A loud _clang_ came from the end of the hallway, and startled them each of their thoughts. They both got to their feet, and looked at one another with worry, before Colonel Mace and a second man came through the door.

"Hello Doctor," Colonel Mace said, pleasantly.

"Hello Colonel," the Doctor replied, matching his tone.

"I'd like you to meet Dr. Lawrence Fortis," he said, gesturing toward the lanky, shaggy, bespectacled scientist who had come in tow.

"So you're _Larry_ ," the Doctor muttered.

"Yes," said Fortis, stepping forward. "It's an honour to meet you, sir. I've been an admirer of yours for years." He put his hand out, and the Doctor shook it, through the bars. Why not? _Larry_ had really done nothing wrong.

Fortis turned to Martha. "Dr. Jones, I want to apologise. I said that I would keep the info under my hat, and I failed you. I was scared for my job. I would never… not knowingly… Doctor, I couldn't…"

"Thanks, I appreciate that," Martha said, meekly.

"Fortunately, Colonel Mace came to me and told me what happened," Fortis said. "How you were in a cell, and it was all a misunderstanding."

"He did?" asked Martha.

"Dr. Jones," Mace said to her, his eyes looking sad and apologetic. "You must be tired of hearing this by now, but I have a protocol to follow. And that protocol today called for you and the Doctor in separate cells, waiting for the fail-safe to be detonated."

"I see that, thanks."

"But once that was done, my part was ended. Someone else gives the orders from there, such as they are."

"I see," she said.

"I saw the look in your eyes when we put you in the cell. I heard what you said about having been wrong about the Doctor's situation. I don't know how or why you came to the conclusion you did, or how or why you then changed your mind, but I trust you as a member of UNIT, and as a companion to the Doctor. I took to heart every appeal you made. I just couldn't do anything, or I'd have ended up in that cell alongside you. My hands really were tied. Until we locked you in, that is," he explained. "Now, I know what you must think of me, and this whole situation. You had some choice words for me earlier."

"Colonel, I…" she began.

"No, no need to explain, I completely understand. Anyhow… I believe you. I will _not_ assume that the Doctor's gone rogue, unless you say he has."

"He has not," she confirmed. She looked the Doctor in the eye, and found him looking back. He nodded slightly. She took it as approval, a sign of his relief, and a step in the right direction for them.

"I'm ever so glad to hear it. That's why I went to Dr. Fortis. He's the one who originally alerted the whole of UNIT to the crisis, he's the physicist on staff who has worked most with the Eustarus, so I thought perhaps he could…"

"… find a way to undo it?" asked the Doctor, wearily.

"Initially, yes, that's what he thought," Fortis said. "But what good would I be against Time Lord engineering? Useless, that's what good. So, it was my idea to let you out. I reckon you can beat Agent Vezner to it, or you'd have a fighting chance at disarming it once it's begun doing its thing. That is, if Dr. Jones will tell you where it is."

"'Course I will!" Martha exclaimed. "Just unlock that cell! Hurry!"

"No, wait! Colonel Mace, are you certain?" asked the Doctor. "You could lose your job!"

"Oh, don't worry," Fortis said, walking away from them. He stepped out the door at the end of the hallway. "I'm the one breaking the rules. I'm a rookie – not much to lose anyhow. Colonel Mace came down here to to stop me!"

Martha and the Doctor both delighted in Mace's totally uncharacteristic smirk, and the shrug he gave the two of them.

When Fortis came back down the hall, he had the sonic screwdriver in his hand. He gave it to the Doctor. "We don't have keys to the cells, so you'll have to get yourself out."

"Are you sure the cells aren't Doctor-proof as well?" Martha asked, sardonically.

"Only one way to find out," the Doctor said, before aiming the sonic at the lock on Martha's cell.

"No! Get yourself out first! What are you thinking?" she shouted as the lock slid sideways and the gate swung slightly open.

"I dunno," the Doctor answered. "Habit. Point is, you're free."

"Thanks. But you're wasting time."

He aimed the sonic at the lock of his own cell, but nothing happened.

"What's going on?" asked Fortis.

The Doctor tried again. Again, no unlocking occurred.

The Doctor, for the second time that hour, kicked the bars and cursed.

"What's the problem, why won't it open?" Martha asked.

"Dr. Fortis, do you know anything about Pullavian Reparation technology?" asked the Doctor, seemingly disgusted.

"A little," Fortis replied. "I'm in physics, not in technology, but there's some crossover. I've run into examples…"

"Well, I think UNIT is using it against me," said the Doctor.

"I don't understand," said Mace.

"It's a type of technology that learns to repair things by trial. Sort of like, say, the human immune system. Once you get chicken pox, your body learns what it looks like, and you can't get them again," the Doctor explained. "Have you lot been in contact with the Pelluvians in the last few months?"

"Yes," Martha said. "One of the crafts crashed in the Alps overnight a few weeks back."

The Doctor shook his head. "The whole Tower has been TARDIS-proofed. But since your contact with the Pullavians, I'd wager that the whole inner HQ of unit has been washed in their Reparation technology."

"Is that why you weren't able to reach me by phone?" she asked.

"Yep," he said. "I could do it once, but not a second time. The technology saw me coming the second time. It's about _me,_ not about the phone I used!"

"Blimey!"

He lowered his voice, and growled, beginning to pace. "Oh, leave it to you lot to misuse sentient technology against an ally!"

"Now, Doctor, Fortis and I are trying to _help_ you!" Colonel Mace reminded him.

"It's why I could short out the computer once, when I was breaking in, but it repaired itself the second time! And now, I can unlock one cell, but not both."

"It's okay, Doctor," Martha said. "I'll just go to my flat and get it. We'll lose some time, but it's better than nothing. Maybe you could…"

"No! You're not going back there. Not alone, anyway. Bring Mace with you. And a weapon."

"Mace is not involved in this, remember?" Fortis said. "I'll not have him giving up his job for this."

"It's all right, Lawrence," Mace said. "I'll go. I'll go on my own, Dr. Jones. I think the Doctor is right - it's safer for you not to return there for a while." He unholstered his gun and checked the safety and ammunition.

"What?" asked Fortis. "Are you mad?"

"I reckon the Brigadier would do the same," Mace said, and he gave the Doctor another crooked smile. "The Doctor must be worth it, though I've no idea why."

"Thanks," said the weary Time Lord.

"Dr. Jones, you stay here, and be with the Doctor, just in case I'm too late," the Colonel instructed. "Where is it, in your flat?"

"Upstairs in my bedroom, inside the wardrobe."

"All right. Here I go," he said, turning to leave.

"Colonel? Please don't be late," she begged.

* * *

"Please don't be late," Fortis commented a few minutes later. He was seated across the hallway from the Doctor's cell, leaning against the bars. Martha paced in the hallway, the Doctor did the same inside his cell. "That's pretty good advice – we probably don't want the Eustarus activated, things being the way they are. However, I've never bothered to wonder what would happen if we detonated the thing when the Doctor hadn't actually gone rogue. Doctor, any ideas?"

"Pff," said the Time Lord. "There's the possibility I could be crushed by hyper-gravity, die from the possible hypothermic and/or overheating effect – though that was a risk, even if I _had_ gone all Darth Vader."

Martha and Fortis both chuckled at his use of the phrase, which the of them had separately used to describe what could happen to the Doctor, worst-case scenario.

"I could be ultimately scattered amongst the particles of the miniaturised supernova. I could die from a brain haemorrhage. Or, my favourite possibility of all, it could actually turn me rogue."

"It could?" Martha asked, stopping her pace in its tracks.

"Maybe."

"What would that be like?"

"Omega and the Master – both rogue Time Lords. Both arrogant and convinced of their own righteous superiority. Destroying worlds… ultimately destroying themselves."

"And then we'd have no way to turn you back."

"Nope. Not unless I decide to do it on my own."

"Jesus," Fortis commented. "That's quite grim! Dr. Jones, please, with all due respect, what on Earth made you call me if you weren't absolutely sure? Didn't you realise we had a protocol in place? There's a damn protocol for every contingency."

She sighed. "It didn't occur to me at the time. I was just so overwhelmed thinking I was the only person in the universe who knew a secret… a _big_ secret. I couldn't keep it in!"

"What made you think he'd gone to the Dark Side?"

She stared at him for a few minutes, opened her mouth to speak, wondering what she would say. Her silence and final reply of, "I'd rather not say," clued in the physicist.

Fortis' eyes darted from Martha's to the Doctor's. Both were refusing to look at him, or each other, both scowling.

"Oh," said Fortis. "I get it."

"Good," Martha said. "Glad we got that cleared up."

"In a private moment…" Fortis taunted, chuckling.

"Yes, and yet you insist on making it… _not_ private," she snapped.

"Okay, sorry. How long has _that_ been going on?" he asked.

"Not long," Martha said. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure," he said. "Don't worry – your secret's safe with me. Colonel Mace has no idea."

"It doesn't matter," the Doctor said.

"It really doesn't," Martha agreed. "My future with UNIT is preciously short after this little episode."

"You might not get the sack," Fortis offered. "You're pretty valuable, especially with your ties to… well, him."

"I'm not coming back, either way," she said.

She made eye contact with the Doctor, and he nodded. Fortis watched, and then looked away, as though he were witnessing some unspeakable intimacy.

After a few heavy moments, Martha cleared her throat and said, "Okay, so one or both of you, please remind me: what's _supposed_ to happen?"

"The Eustarus tracks me down wherever I am, using an energy signature specific to my DNA so that it can find me in any regeneration," the Doctor said. "It uses those same energy channels to attach itself, for lack of a better phrase, to my presumptive _evil_ qualities, and it all begins to collapse like a black hole. The opposite of a supernova. Once my psyche is inside, I'll need an anchor, the equivalent of the flute that Omega touched that destroyed the antimatter universe. My anchor will pull me through the rest of the way, and destroy the part of me that's rogue."

"So are you saying that if the Eustarus can't find any rogue-ish qualities within you, then it will latch onto anything it can find? Like your good qualities? Turn _them_ inside-out?" asked Fortis, standing up.

"I just don't know, Larry," the Doctor replied. "It's possible."

"Sorry, Doctor," Martha said. "But I know you pretty well and I'd say that it's extremely unlikely that the Eustarus wouldn't be able to find _any_ rogue-ish qualities."

"That's true," the Doctor sighed. "Which means, that it might just purge me of all of that."

Martha frowned. "That wouldn't be good."

"Wouldn't it?" he wondered.

"No," she said. "Then it would take away your edge, your fire! The adventurer in you, the resourceful scamp within! The side of you that takes command and wants control…" and she stopped short, and blushed.

It was impossible to tell from the Doctor's expression whether he knew what she was thinking, but she reckoned he likely did.

"It would steal your soul, if it did that. I'd rather see it turn you bad," she all but whispered.

"Right, so," Fortis said. "One way or another, we're thinking it would not be a good thing to have this thing detonate."

"Come on, Mace," Martha muttered through clenched teeth. She began to pace again. "Just get to my flat and find the thing…"

"Too late," the Doctor said. "It's starting."

Martha turned sharply to face him, and found him hunched over, supporting himself against the bars of his cell.

"Doctor!" she said, trying to rush to his aid.

He looked up at her with total fear in his eyes. "Agent Vezner had a huge head-start. It was a long-shot for Colonel Mace."

She put her hands over his on the bars. "Doctor, I'm so sorry. I did this to you. What can I do?"

"I don't know yet, Martha. Just… don't leave me."

"Never," she promised, her voice quaking.

Over the next couple of minutes, she tried to lull him, to reassure him… tried desperately not to ask questions. She longed to know what he was feeling, what he was thinking, how much it hurt, if at all. But she held back. If he made it through this intact, she could ask him later.

Suddenly, he groaned as if he'd sustained a punch to the gut, and he fell to his knees.

She called his name and fell along with him, the thick bars still separating them. And then she noticed something, and could no longer stifle herself asking questions.

"Doctor, what is that gold mist surrounding you?"


	12. Chapter 12

**The goal here is: _intense and suspenseful._ And also maybe a little bit of fangirl squee fodder. :-) As always, leave a review. I predict that you'll have a lot to say when this is over!**

* * *

TWELVE

Before leaving the cellblock level, Colonel Mace extracted the keys that had been confiscated from Martha Jones from the cubby in which they had been stored. He guessed that the one with the purple rubber finger-grip covering was likely the key to her flat. He knew it was probable that he would not need it, given that an agent had already been sent there to break in, and her flat was likely wide open now. But, on the off-chance there was no-one there when he arrived, he'd be prepared.

Although, logic told him that if no-one was there when he arrived, it would mean that Agent Vezner had come and gone, and the fail-safe had been activated. At that stage, there would be nothing he could do. He was honest with himself, in that this was the most probable scenario. He reckoned that his stopping this process from occurring was the very epitome of _long-shot,_ but he felt he had to try. He had not been lying to the Doctor when he implied that he was doing this because it was something the Brigadier would do. Clearly, Lethbridge-Stewart felt the Doctor was worth an awful lot of hassle and risk – who was Mace to disagree with a man of the Brigadier's calibre?

Not to mention, he actually had a great deal of respect for Dr. Jones. He felt genuinely horrible about participating in her incarceration (even if it was just so that he could be free to act in her favour), and wanted to make amends. In addition, as he understood it, this whole thing had been nothing more than a slight misunderstanding on her part, and he wanted to help her rectify it.

So, before exiting the Tower complex, more nervous possibly than ever he had been in his life, he stopped by his office. He knew two things about this one-man operation: 1) he should not call attention to himself, no matter where he was, and 2) he needed to be privy to current communications within UNIT. To these ends, he ditched his dress uniform coat and exchanged it for a navy blue ribbed jumper. It was still UNIT-issue, but it had no adornments. Within the Tower, he'd still be recognisable, and no-one would think twice about his garment. Likewise out on the street, it was unlikely that anyone not looking for military garb would automatically peg him for an officer. He also picked up a miniature surveillance radio, and an earpiece with which to listen to it. As he made his way toward the vehicular hold, he surfed channels until he found Agent Houser's booming voice on the comm.

"I've got Traitor's Gate," the large Agent was saying. Mace reckoned that Houser must have been at the end of a briefing on security positions, because the next thing he said was, "The Tower is sealed." This signified that UNIT was theoretically impenetrable; nothing was meant to get in or out.

Fortunately, Colonel Mace outranked Agent Houser and all of his squad, and he was familiar with a way out that was not common knowledge to any of the field Agents. A secret exit through what looked like a concrete wall in the vehicular hold was available to him, and it led into a tunnel that spat out near Monument station.

Mace used his magnetic key credential to get into and start one of the vehicles issued to his rank: a black Mercedes Benz SUV, next year's model. He drove it to the wall, typed in a code using the touch-screen on his dashboard, and the barrier slid aside. He then entered the tunnel, and the wall snapped closed behind him.

* * *

The Doctor now had both palms and both knees on the floor of his cell, and his breathing was laboured, as though something heavy were pressing down on his back. And he was surrounded with glowing gold dust, that seemed to radiate from every pore.

"Doctor, can you talk?" Martha said, starting to panic, now reaching through the bars. He had fallen just barely within her reach. She didn't know what else to do, so she tried to hold his hand, but could only touch her fingertips to his wrist. "Can you tell me what's happening? Can you tell me what I should do?"

"What's with the golden glow?" Fortis asked, now beginning to worry quite a lot himself. He had heard Martha ask the same thing a moment or two ago, but she was so fretful, she would probably never return to the question. She had too many other things on her mind… starting with the man she apparently loved, pressed to the floor, possibly by the weight of a strengthening cosmic hypergravity.

Fortis, though, had done enough research on the Doctor to know that the gold dust had to do with regeneration, and he became rather excited (and fearful) that he might witness the regeneration of a Time Lord before his eyes. He cursed himself. He had had a hand in creating this situation for the Doctor, a man he still did truly admire. It was not fun for him, in the least, to see the Time Lord on the floor, seemingly in pain.

"What's happening is my life-force is being manipulated," the Doctor answered, panting, straining. "The gold dust is my regenerative energy."

"Regenerative energy? Are you serious?" she asked, squeezing his fingers.

"Yes," he croaked. "Nasty qualities in anyone – human, Time Lord, cat-person – they are intangible. But when I replicated the black hole process, I knew it still had to be basically a physical procedure. So if the Eustarus is going to…" he bent his elbows and groaned against something, again pushing him down.

"Hang in there, Doctor," Fortis said, uselessly. He squatted beside Martha, outside the cell, and watched, his own panic and self-loathing rising.

The spell seemed to pass, and the Doctor shook it off, momentarily. "If the Eustarus is going to fixate on something, it needs something akin to matter. It can't just take something with no real _existence_ in this world, and turn it inside-out. A black hole needs light, matter, something to hold onto. It does its thing through my regenerative energy, which contains everything that is me – distilled and waiting to be recombined."

"That is just… just _genius_ , is what that is!" Fortis said, with disbelief. He had always wondered how the Doctor had managed to program the thing to focus on _qualities_. How the hell was that even possible? As far as his lowly human brain had known, it _wasn't_ possible. But now seeing the tangible evidence of regeneration, and the wafting of the Doctor's very life force, he could now understand. A part of him was quite taken with this revelation for a few seconds, until Martha's voice brought him back to reality.

"So, you are going to regenerate?" she asked, trying hard to sound calm. She desperately did not want him to change… especially now. She didn't know if she could bear it if they failed to make amends before everything about him changed forever. She also didn't know what she'd be getting herself into if he looked and acted different all of a sudden…

"It's possible," he answered. "If I do, it would be a by-product of the original process. I didn't design the thing to make me regenerate but…"

"You didn't know this would happen?" she asked.

"Not really, but now I think about it, it makes perfect…" he began, then he seemed to strain again under a crackling cry of pain. He fell to his side, landing on his shoulder and hip, out of her reach.

That sound shattered any appearance of calm she had been able to muster. "Oh, God, Doctor," she moaned. "Tell me how to help you!"

The light grew brighter around him and started to become something other than dust.

"Oh God," he moaned. He coughed, as though his lungs were beginning to compress. "Just… be my anchor, Martha."

"How do I do that?"

He reached out one of his hands as far as he could, but it simply wasn't enough. The gulf between them was more than a foot now, even with Martha straining in the same way. "I can't… I can't…" he groaned. He gave up, and let his arm go listless. "Just don't leave me."

Fortis studied them. The Doctor was clearly in great pain, and was probably frightened out of his wits. In spite of his having forged the Eustarus himself, he had little to no idea what was about to happen to him, because these were not the conditions he had envisioned when he designed it. Martha had one arm awkwardly thrust through the bars, not about to cede to the situation. The other hand was wrapped around a bar, and was bracing her, keeping her from having to press her face against the cage. She had her head bowed now, and she wept quietly, tears falling to the concrete floor. She sniffled, and whispered, "Oh my God. I'm sorry, Doctor."

"Okay, that's it," Fortis said getting to his feet once again. "I can't take this anymore. How bloody useless am I? I'm sitting here _watching_ this happen! For God's sake, I _caused_ this, and what am I doing about it?"

"You didn't cause this, Larry," the Doctor said, coughing. "I did. And not just because I made the weapon, but…"

"Just hold on, Doctor," said the physicist. "I'm going to get you an actual _key_ to your cell. I don't care if I have to knock some heads to do it. I won't be a minute!" He ran down the hall to the door.

"What good will that do?" Martha asked. "Can't you see the weapon has already been activated? There is no more _get there in time,_ Larry!"

"Back in a mo'!" he shouted, before throwing open the door and running out.

"Martha, I'm so sorry," the Doctor hissed, then coughed. She swore now that she could also see the colour draining from his face.

With all this, the regenerative energy around him abated somewhat, and went back to smoky tendrils hovering about him.

"I'm sorry too."

"I drove you to this," he managed.

"Don't talk," she advised, gently. "Just breathe."

"I should have said something sooner. I should have known, the way things were, you'd think it was coming from _nowhere_. I don't blame you for feeling manipulated…"

"I don't feel manipulated, Doctor. I spoke too soon. I should never have…"

"Let me finish. Please."

She fell silent.

"I don't blame you for feeling manipulated, or for feeling like you couldn't handle it on your own, the possibility that I'd have turned dark somehow. And if you had to go to someone with it, Larry seems like a good enough bloke."

"I suppose so," Martha agreed.

"I'm sorry for that year I made you live with ghosts in the TARDIS. I should have stopped you from leaving. I should have said something when you got engaged. I should have…" he coughed hard, then seemed to choke.

"Doctor… don't do this to yourself."

"It needs saying," he insisted.

"You'll say it when this is all over. Just save your strength."

"Strength won't get me out of this."

She chuckled bitterly. "And torturing yourself with apologies will?"

"It might. Because _you_ will. _You_ will get me out of this. I need an anchor, and that's you. You're my _flute,_ the thing that might help me come out of this intact."

"The flute that Omega touched?" she asked, rhetorically. "But if the fail-safe predicted that you'd go through this after you'd gone bad, then maybe I won't be any help to you. If you're supposed to come out on the right side of the implosion, but you were never on the wrong side…"

He shook his head as rigorously as he could. "Straddling good and bad, matter and anti-matter, it wouldn't make a difference what I or Omega touch. Caught between worlds, Omega was going the way of the flute, one way or the other. The anti-matter universe was volatile anyhow, so it was destroyed by the process."

"I think I see."

"If I'm right, that means that, suspended where I am, I go the way of my anchor. I go the way of Martha." He tried to smile.

"Good," she said, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. "But since it's not about _matter_ this time, it's about intangible qualities, then do we actually need to touch?"

His eyes roved up and around the front of his cell, to the steel cage separating him from his anchor. "Bloody bars in the way."

"But if we can't touch, then…"

He was trying to use words sparingly now. "That's why… apologies. Clear debris… maybe touch with emotions. Nothing separating us," he coughed, and gagged again. He paused the catch this breath, as best he could. Then, "Better than nothing."

"Okay, in that case, I accept your apology. All of it. I accept blame. I…" She couldn't finish. She was choked with regret and an increasingly debilitating sadness. She tried just to gaze into his eyes. If he thought that emotional "touching" could bring them closer, maybe save the Doctor's life/sanity then she would do her best.

Another surge of light radiated from him, as bright as before. They were both reminded, once again, of what was at stake.

"I love you," he rasped.

"I love you too."

"Might die. Might turn to something I hate. Might regenerate. But whatever... you know and remember… me, here and now. Me... last several months. Last night, all of today… I love you." Speaking was a huge effort now.

She nodded, unable to say anything, as a wave of sobs came over her and more hot tears fell to the cold floor.

They remained this way for several minutes. Once in a while one would try and smile at the other, but it did not convey reassurance. Martha now lay on the floor on her side, much like the Doctor, her arm still lying through the bars, as close to him as possible. At some point, almost without her own conscious knowledge, she began singing softly.

" _You're the bravest of hearts, you're the strongest of souls,"_ she sang. _"You're my light in the dark, you're the place I call home. You can say it's all right, but I know that you're breaking on the inside - I see it in your eyes. Even you face the night afraid and alone, that's why I'll be there…"_

The Doctor closed his eyes, and tried to focus his attention away from the pain. He tried to fill his head with only her voice.

* * *

According to the dashboard display, Colonel Mace was approaching the half-mile mark as he drove away from the Tower, in the underground tunnel. All along, he'd been feeling the pavement beneath his wheels sloping upward. He reckoned he was very near the surface now.

And indeed, within a minute, he could see the red light that signified, in the dark, that a barrier was imminent, warning drivers not to run into it. He slowed, preparing to type in another code and get past.

But bathed in the red light, there was a figure.

That figure was human. It was in his way, and it was not moving.

Obstinately, he reached out for the touch-screen on the dash and prepared to type in the pass-code, but the figure took a threatening stance and aimed a weapon right at his head.

"Do not type in that pass-code, or I will shoot," the officer shouted, loud enough for him to hear.

He pressed a button and his window buzzed down. "Agent Silver?" he asked, recognising the voice of the female agent who had been present when Dr. Jones had been placed in holding.

"Yes, sir," she responded. "Turn off your vehicle, and put your hands on the wheel."

"Excuse me?" he retorted, curtly. But that was just bravado. He knew the score now. He'd been flagged within the organisation as a threat, because of his previous work with Martha Jones and the Doctor. "Would you care to say that again?"

"You heard me, Colonel Mace," she said. "I'm sorry, but I am under strict orders not to allow anyone to leave HQ now, particularly you."

He turned off the engine and exited the vehicle. "Why, particularly me? And I'll thank you to lower your weapon, solider That's the second time today I've had to tell you that."

She reluctantly did so, and answered, "I am not at liberty to say why, sir."

"Well, you may have forgotten, Agent Silver, but I am your superior officer. You are now under orders to stand aside and let me pass."

She gulped. "I cannot do that, sir."

"On whose order are you disobeying mine, exactly?"

"On the order of Agents Houser and Vezner," she reported. "You are on a list of individuals deemed as risk-of-compromise, under the protocol associated with Blue Alert."

"Of course, the fail-safe protocol. Do you even know what that's about?"

"No, sir, I don't need to know. I just know it's a class-A…"

"A class-A emergency protocol, I know," he sighed.

"I'll need to search your vehicle now, sir."

"And yet she still calls me _sir_ ," he muttered as she walked past him and began rifling through the SUV.

As it was not _his_ vehicle, and he'd only been driving it for a few minutes, none of his personal effects were in it.

She did, however, find one thing of interest. As Silver had been the one to frisk Martha Jones and confiscate her keys, she recognised them, lying on the passenger seat. It was the purple grip on one of them that gave it away.

Silver spoke into the comm device clipped to her epaulet. "This is Agent Silver, I have a code-9. Colonel Mace is in possession of the keys to Dr. Martha Jones' domicile."

"Say that again, Silver," came a booming voice that Mace recognised as, again, Agent Houser.

"Colonel Mace. I intercepted him trying to leave through the vehicle hold tunnel. He's got Dr. Jones' flat keys."

"Shit," spat Houser. "Is he there with you?"

"Yes."

"Put him on the comm."

"It's no good doing so, Agent Silver. I will not be interrogated by officers whom I outrank," Mace said holding his hand out in a _stop_ gesture, as she began to unpin the mouthpiece from her uniform.

"Mace, what the hell are you thinking?" the voice came, booming.

The Colonel thought about his response for a few moments, then, "Look, if you're going to take me into custody, then do it. Otherwise, you can piss off."

* * *

The regeneration process seemed to change its mind several times, throbbing around the Doctor at regular intervals. In addition, the hyper gravity element seemed to be strengthening until, eventually, the Doctor's breathing was so laboured that he could not form a word. His face was losing more and more colour, his lips were practically purple, and each inhale and exhale was shallow and audible.

" _When the storm rises up, when the shadows descend,"_ Martha sang softly. _"Every beat of my heart, every day without end, I will stand like a rock, I will bend 'til I break, 'til there's no more to give, if that's what it takes."_

They began to hear pounding from far away, well outside the door. They both registered the noise, but were too focused on one another, and too exhausted to pay it heed.

" _Through the wind and the rain, through the smoke and the fire, when the fear rises up, when the wave's ever higher, I will lay down my heart, my body, my soul. I will hold on all night and never let go. Every second I live, that's the promise I make. That's what I'll give, if that's what it takes."_

And in those moments, she meant those words. She made a promise to herself: no matter what happened, she would be there, to make sure that the universe still had its strongest saviour at-hand when the chips went down. Bad Doctor, good Doctor. Doctor who loves her, Doctor who spurns her. Regenerated Doctor; short, stout, ruddy, dowdy, bald, everything _this_ Doctor is not… she would not leave him, even if he wanted her to. This was _her_ fight. This was _her_ fault! She would be his anchor, not just today, but forever.

The pounding was near now, and Martha realised it was the sound of someone using metal stairs to arrive at the lower levels, where the cells were.

In the next few seconds, the door flew open, and Larry Fortis appeared.

"Bloody cretins!" he shouted. "Shut down the lift, will they? Put me on some stupid _risk-of-compromise_ list, will they?"

"What are you on about?" Martha asked, annoyed.

"I've got the key!" he announced, stumbling toward the Doctor's cell.

"Seriously?" Martha cried out, getting to her feet.

"Yep," he said, doing his best to shove the oversized piece of brass into the lock. "A long hunk of jagged metal, more useful than a sonic screwdriver! Heh, who knew?"

"Thank you!" she said, impatiently shifting her weight as he manipulated the large bolt.

"You're welcome," he said. "I wish I could say I hate myself for what I had to do to get it but… well, I really don't. Some of those officers, I've always _wanted_ to hit with fire extinguishers. This gave me a reason!"

He heaved the door aside, and Martha rushed into the cell and fell to the floor beside the Doctor. She took his head in both hands and kissed his forehead and cheeks about ten times, before realising he was totally immobile.

"Larry, he's paralysed," she said. "What does that mean?"

"I assume that means the collapsing star thing is in full effect."

"What now?"

"I dunno," Larry shrugged. "I'm sorry."

The Doctor's eyes were frozen open, his lips were slack. She felt his pulse, and found that it had slowed to a frighteningly low rate, especially for someone with two hearts that were _supposed_ to be pumping at once.

"Can you help him?" she wondered.

Fortis shook his head sadly. "There's no literature on what to do in mid-process, if the fail-safe isn't going to plan."

"I guess that should be obvious by now," she said, wiping tears away. "Come on, Doctor. Don't leave me!"

Again, she cried, apologised, fretted, but this time, she did all of it with her hands on him. His face and neck, his hands… anywhere where he could feel her.

"Er, Martha?" Fortis said, watching from the cell's doorway.

She ignored him for the moment, and started her song again. She lay down beside the Doctor, stroking his cheek with her palm. She assumed that he could still see, hear and feel her, but that something within his consciousness was trapped inside a localised collapsing star just now. If some unknown power was, at this moment, deciding how to spit out the whole of the Doctor's being – good, bad, same, different – then she would be right here to force its hand.

The golden glow grew blinding, but she refused to shut it out. She maintained eye-contact with the him – she was his anchor. His rock. His rope for climbing out of the hole into which they had all had a hand in tossing him.

"Martha, that gold stuff is around you too!" she heard Fortis report. "It's enveloping you!"

"Okay," she said to him, rather faraway.

"That's got to be a good thing!"

"Yes, probably," she mused. And she continued to sing.

"Martha…" she heard whispered to her.

But it was not Larry Fortis' voice.

"Doctor," she sobbed anew.

His eyes still did not look fully alive yet, but his lips were moving, forming her name.

"Martha," he said again.

His hand began to move across the cement floor, slowly, crawling, like a worm. She moved her hand to meet it halfway, and they grasped at each other.

Then his eyes moved to hers, and looked into her, as though he were crawling out of a dark hole, and she was the only light.

"Martha, thank you," he said

It felt like goodbye. Everything inside of her reeled against it, this whole moment. But she'd made a promise.

"No, thank _you_ , Doctor," she sobbed. "Thank you for everything."

One way or another, she may never see these eyes this way again. She may never kiss these lips again. She may never…

She panicked again. All she could think to do was to move in close, and press her lips against his.

To her surprise, she could feel him kissing her back, then felt his hand wriggle free of hers, and land on her cheek. She grasped at his lapel and pulled closer to him. She heard his breath coming normally, and felt his mouth open to hers. He moved closer, pressed against her, pushed her backward until she had no choice but to roll onto her back. The weight of him pressed her into the concrete, the beautiful, wonderful overzealous heaviness of ardour, relief, healing, gratefulness and ecstasy. It flowed from him, almost literally, through her and back, and for a few brief moments on the hard floor of an ugly cell, in the belly of an organisation which neither of them could trust any longer… they were one.

The Doctor pulled away and looked down at her.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she retorted.

"So… rough day."

"Yeah," she half-chuckled, half-sobbed.


	13. Chapter 13

**I would say that this chapter is the end of "part one" of this story! The adventure will continue, in a somewhat different direction after this point...**

 **Please don't forget to review... and enjoy!**

* * *

THIRTEEN

Just outside the door to the cellblock's hallway, there was a telephone. And old-fashioned, attached-to-the-wall telephone.

Dr. Lawrence Fortis leaned against the door and waited. He was on hold, and had been for a few minutes. He was irritated and nervous, tapping his fingers against the door.

There was a knock from behind him. He looked through the little window and saw the Doctor waving back.

He turned and opened the door, and the Doctor and Martha Jones stepped through, holding hands.

"You're alive!" Fortis exclaimed, hugging the Doctor awkwardly, zealously, with the phone still pressed to his ear.

"So it would seem," said the Time Lord.

"I wasn't sure if you'd make it through intact," said Fortis, now pulling away and smoothing out the Doctor's shoulder and coat sleeve, which he had wrinkled in his enthusiasm.

"I'm alive. But I had help," the Doctor said, smiling wearily. He squeezed Martha's hand.

"What are you doing?" Martha asked, gesturing to the phone.

"Calling out for Chinese. Seeing if Wang Fung's delivers to the Tower," Fortis joked. "It's been a hell of a day and I'm feeling peckish."

"Hell of day," she sighed. "You can say that again."

"Actually, I'm trying to find out what's become of Colonel Mace," he told her. "I reckoned I'd make myself useful, since you two seemed to have things, you know… under control…" He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Sorry about that," the Doctor said, glancing at Martha. "The process of healing can be messy."

"Didn't look messy," said Fortis. "Just looked like something I didn't need to be seeing, is all. And I wasn't sure how far it needed to go for you to… you know, _heal_."

"Don't worry, it didn't go any further," Martha assured him. "Just a good, solid snog with his 'flute' did the trick."

"Thanks, Martha, that doesn't sound dodgy at all," the Doctor muttered. "Actually, it's rather surprising how many of my problems have been solved with a snog."

Fortis laughed. "I'll have some of those stories off you some other time. Just now, I'm…" he stopped short, and then turned his attention to the telephone receiver, and shouted. "Yes, this is Dr. Lawrence Fortis of the physics department. I'm looking into the whereabouts of Colonel Alan Mace. Please don't ask me to hold the line again! I spoke to someone about ten minutes ago who said he would check on it. The Colonel exited the fourth-level cellblock about… I see. Yes, I see… but how...? All right, thank you." He hung up the phone.

"What?" Martha asked, dreading the answer.

"Colonel Mace was caught leaving Tower HQ in a UNIT-issue vehicle through a secret tunnel hidden in the vehicle hold. He was intercepted near the tunnel's outlet and taken into custody."

"What?" the Doctor asked, his face irritated and deadpan.

"It was deemed that he was on his way to perform an operation that would be in direct violation of a class-A protocol," Fortis reported, also with almost no expression. "He had 'evidence' in the vehicle with him. And, my friends, you can bet your bottom dollar that he was on that _risk-of-compromise_ list because of he's worked so closely with you, Martha. He was probably third on the list, right after you, and Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart."

"So, what's with this list? Is it a witch-hunt, for UNIT operatives affiliated with the Doctor?" Martha practically shrieked.

"No, not a witch-hunt, exactly. It just means that our activities are more closely monitored, until the crisis is averted. We are not arrested unless we do something untoward."

"We?" asked the Doctor.

"I'm on that list too, I told you," Fortis reminded him.

"Evidence in the vehicle with him," Martha mused. "I wonder what that means. What evidence?"

Fortis shrugged. "It doesn't matter. It means they're going to toss Colonel Mace into one of these cells. Probably in the next two or three minutes, which means the two of you should get the hell out of here."

"What about you?" the Doctor asked.

"I don't know what they're currently charging Colonel Mace with," he said. "But I'm still not going to let him take the blame for this whole thing."

"Well, get in that cell – the one I was in. Tell them I sonicked my way out and threw you in there, so I could escape," the Doctor offered.

"Yeah, but who gave you the sonic?"

"I'll say that the officer who accosted me forgot to do a search."

"That officer will deny it."

"So what? I'm the Doctor. My word against his. Or I'll say I have more than one."

Fortis smiled. "The timing doesn't jibe, Doctor," he said. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but… I'll wait here for them to take me in. But it's just a holding tank. Once I'm locked up, they have twenty-four hours to review my case, and then they have to release me. Then they either sack me, demote me, or put me back in my lab, and act like nothing ever happened."

"You'll almost definitely lose your job," Martha said.

"Yeah. But at least I can't be _properly_ imprisoned. The worst that can happen is I sign a non-disclosure agreement with the _threat_ of imprisonment for treason, and start job-hunting next week." He paused, then, "Go. Before you get caught. Take the lift. They'll bring Mace down using the stairs, 'cause they think the lift is out of commission."

"Right," the Doctor said. He offered his hand to the physicist, who shook it. "Thank you. Really, thank you. I don't know if I'd have come through this without your getting that key."

"It was nothing," Fortis insisted. "Some people _deserve_ to be assaulted with fire extinguishers."

Martha hugged him. "Keep in touch, okay? Let us know what happens. And, I know I'm not the captain of the ship, but…" she glanced at the Doctor, and took her confiscated pen out of the cubby. "Ring us up if you ever fancy a jaunt through time and space." She unbuttoned his cuff and pushed up his sleeve, so she could write a phone number on his forearm.

"You know you'll probably have to get a new mobile phone, right? Both of you, if you want to stay clear of UNIT for a while." Fortis warned as he watched her form numbers on his skin.

"The Doctor's seen to a new phone for me already," Martha said. "Okay, so, this is my sister's work mobile. Her name is Tish. If you leave her a message, she'll know how to get in touch with me. That way if they search you, they won't know you're in touch with me or the Doctor."

"Oh. Very clever, but…"

"If they try the number, it will lead to my sister's electronic answering service, which has a generic outgoing message issued by her company. I'll tell her to expect to hear from UNIT, and you. Why don't we give you a code word? How about…"

" _Adelfi_ ," said Fortis.

" _Adelfi_?" Martha asked.

" _Sister_ , in Greek," the Doctor said. "Very _à propos._ Which is à propos in French."

They began to hear the clanging of metal from above. They recognised it as feet plodding down the metal stairs, probably with Colonel Mace in handcuffs.

The Doctor kept in mind that he only had _one shot_ with each type of device or technology within the UNIT complex, grabbed Martha, and began the business of escape.

* * *

The Doctor materialised the TARDIS in the sky just above Martha's neighbourhood. They still weren't sure it would be safe to enter the flat, or if there would still be UNIT officers skulking about.

He did a scan of the area to find any alien technology functioning, and found nothing. The SUV that had been parked across the street was gone. An infrared probe of her home revealed nothing 'warm' in the flat, meaning that all hot-blooded life forms had gone.

"Now begins the ugly task of putting my life back together," she sighed.

"Your life is already together," he told her, offhandedly, pressing buttons and pulling levers on the console. "Your life is _here_. All you need to do is put your _flat_ back together. And I can help you do that."

"Wow," she commented, blinking at him.

Her tone surprised him, and he realised he'd spoken without really asking her what she had in mind for the future, now that all hell had broken loose. "That is… you have a life here, if you still want it. After all that has happened, I'd understand if you're too exhausted…"

She smiled. "No, what you said is accurate. It's just… wow. I can't believe… that it's accurate."

She sidled up beside him and slid an arm around his waist. He put one arm around her, and together they surveyed the data coming from Martha's flat.

"Well, shall we go in? Looks like it's safe-ish," he said.

"Sure," she sighed. "Might as well. I don't suppose you were ever able to pick up that pizza you promised?"

"I was, but I shoved it under a bush. I'm sure someone found it by now… a dog or a neighbour."

"Well I'm famished," she announced. "I'm going to order one. I'm not giving up on our night. We'll just start with cleaning up the sofa, and see what's become of my DVD's… maybe we can find something in the rubble that we want to watch."

"Actually, I think we should just stop in and collect some of your things, dispose of anything dangerous, and just vacate for a while. I'm tempted to think that your flat will be under surveillance for quite some time. We can still have our lovely evening in the TARDIS, parked far away."

"Okay, if you think that's best."

So, they materialised in her foyer, and realised that whoever had broken in, had done so by knocking the door off its hinges and leaving it wide-open. So much for finesse, and not alerting the neighbours. They spent some time repairing the door and reinforcing the lock, and shuffled through the flat, room to room, looking at the damage.

"Well, at least nothing's broken except the door," she sighed, closing cabinets in the kitchen that had been thrown open and emptied in haste. She sighed. "Okay, I just need to let go. Pack a few clothes, and all that."

"I'll order the pizza. Do you have your new phone on you? I don't think we should use either of our established mobile phones just now, even if it is just to order dinner."

"It's on the captain's chair in the TARDIS."

"Be right back," he said.

She trudged alone up to the back of the flat into her bedroom, where the light had been left on. The room not only looked as though it had been tossed for an item, but almost as though a bomb had literally gone off in it. The wardrobe was open, of course, and some of the hanging clothing had been thrown clear, a few were still hanging, and others were twisted atop the wardrobe, as though the explosion had come from there.

And of course it had. The Eustarus was sitting now harmlessly on the floor of the wardrobe, at the front, less than two feet from where she'd stored it for months. Its four sides were laying open like a banana peel, and the inside was simply empty.

"Well, blimey, it looks like a miniature supernova-cum-black-hole was detonated in here," the Doctor said, wandering in, iPhone to his hear. "You need a housekeeper, Dr. Jones."

The bedclothes had been ripped off. Lamps were sideways. Anything that had once been on a night stand was now on the floor… somewhere. The desk had tipped over, and anything on it was strewn across the carpet.

With a heavy sigh, she began to set one of the lamps back upright, but the Doctor stopped her.

"We'll deal with this later. Just find something comfy to change into, pack a bag, and we'll go. The TARDIS' front parlour is waiting for us, and a Tandoori chicken curry pizza."

"Okay. But can we just have something regular? Like pepperoni? I'm not in the mood for exotic."

"Sure," he conceded, before he stepped out into the hallway and spoke, as someone on the other end of the line seemed to have picked up the line at last.

Martha dug through the wreckage and found a pair of trousers she used for her workouts, and a tank-top. Then she disappeared into the loo, while the Doctor made his call.

* * *

After picking up the completely non-exotic pizza, they retired to the TARDIS' front parlour, watched a film that both of them had seen before, and didn't speak about anything substantial for the rest of the night. After eating, they curled up together, zoned out, and fell asleep there where they dropped, before the end of the film.

The following day, the Doctor disabled and disposed of both of their "established" mobile phones in deep space. The razor phone that Martha had tossed at him on that day when she'd said she was "getting out," was now gone. It felt vindicating for him that the symbol of his biggest interpersonal cock-up was now floating dead, caught in the cosmos.

Just for good measure, he modified Martha's new iPhone to operate on a different frequency than before, he changed the number, re-enabled universal roaming, and gave it back to her. In the next few days, he said, he would try and find time to get his own.

And as soon as she had it back in her hand, she rang Tish's personal phone.

"Hi," she said.

"Hey, you!" Tish chirped. "Where are you ringing from? The number came up blocked."

"Yeah, that'll happen. New phone. It's a thing. Listen…"

"Oh! I didn't get a chance to talk to you yesterday. How was your date?"

Martha frowned with confusion for a few seconds, as the question sank in. Tish was, in fact, asking about the La Cerise Noire affair on Friday night, which was only thirty-six hours before. With all that had happened since then, it felt like six months ago.

"Oh," Martha answered with surprise. "It was fine."

"Fine? Just _fine_? A dinner at La Cerise Noire for which you bought an entirely new ensemble, including, might I add, knickers… was _fine?_ Come on, I need details!"

"Tish, I have a reason for calling."

"I'm sure you do. Just tell me one thing: did he get a room?"

Martha sighed heavily, knowing that she had never been able to lie effectively to her sister. "Yes," she said, reluctantly.

Tish laughed. "You owe me twenty pounds!" Then she said, "Which I will waive if you answer my questions."

"If I pay you, will you let me pass without answering?"

"Of course not."

"Fine. I want this over with because I have something else to talk to you about. What else do you want to know, so we can hurry this along?"

Tish laughed again, taking joy in her sister's discomfort. "So he did get a room. And did you _go_ to said room with him?"

"Yes, I did."

"I see. And did you stay in said room overnight?"

"Yes, I did."

Tish squealed with delight. Then she stopped short. "Wait! You didn't walk across the hotel lobby in that cocktail dress in the morning, did you? Please tell me you brought a change of clothes, or borrowed something."

"Who brings a change of clothes on a date?"

"Someone going to a posh hotel restaurant in brand-new knickers," Tish insisted. "How many times, Martha?"

"Ugh, whatever. I did not walk across the lobby in the dress," Martha said. "I didn't need to." As soon as it was out of her mouth, she regretted it, because she knew the next question.

"Why? How did you get out?"

Martha sighed heavily. She might as well be truthful. In a few minutes, she would have to tell Tish at least the highlights of the debacle that had led to her leaving/being sacked from UNIT, and couldn't very well leave the Doctor out of that story. Tish wouldn't let her get away with half-truths there either; she was a lot like their mother that way.

"I got out of it because…" she hesitated.

"Yes?" asked Tish, excitedly.

"Because my _date_ happens to have a device that allowed me to go straight from the hotel room to my flat, without my having even to step into the hallway."

"What's that, a helicopter?"

"No…"

"What did you do, go out the window and climb up the side of the building? Did you 'beam' like in _Star Trek?_ Does he have a teleportation dev…" she trailed off. "Oh my God, he has a teleportation device."

"Yeah, sort of," Martha sighed, quietly.

"It's a police box, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

She heard Tish gasp, then squeak, then reckoned she was at a loss for words.

Eventually, Tish announced, "Okay, there's no way you're wriggling out of giving me every nasty little detail, do you understand me? I'm your sister, I'm entitled to this. Now…"

"Tish!" Martha shouted. "I actually have something I really need to say to you, and it happens to be time-sensitive!"

Tish seemed taken aback. "Okay, okay, no need to yell. Sorry. I'm just excited."

"Thanks, really," Martha whined. "But can you please listen?"

"Okay."

"The Doctor and I got into some trouble and basically… well, I've left UNIT. Some stuff happened, and it's all my fault, and it's a big mess. Anyway, there's a UNIT physicist involved named Dr. Lawrence Fortis – Larry. He's a really good bloke, and I'm just trying to protect him, and his job. If anyone suspected that he'd been talking to me after the fact, he could possibly get into even more trouble, even though he's probably going to be sacked as it is. I'd rather that he not be sacked _and_ living under surveillance for the next five years."

"Martha? What's any of this got to do with me?"

"Bottom line is, Larry may need to keep in touch with me and/or the Doctor. Sort of. But if he got caught with my phone number, he might get in deeper than he already is. So I gave him your work number, told him your name, that you're my sister and that you'll know how to reach me."

"Oh. Okay, I guess. You said he's a good guy? He's not going to get all weird on me?"

"He's one of the good guys, Tish. As for weird… well, he's a physicist, so I can't make any promises."

"Whatever. I do PR – I can talk to anyone."

"Thanks. It's just that I reckoned if anyone from UNIT called the number, they'd get your generic answering service thing, and wouldn't, at least without some research, necessarily be able to connect it to me."

"All right. Not a bad idea."

"So I'm calling to tell you to expect a call from Larry Fortis. He'll have the code word _adelfi._ Ask him for it, just to make sure it's not someone from UNIT pretending to be him."

" _Adelfi_? Okay, let me write that down," Tish said. Martha heard some rustling and scratching noises, then heard Tish ask, "What does that even mean?"

"It's _sister_ in Greek," Martha told her. "Now, understand… I may, or may not, be completely overreacting here. I might be paranoid. I might be overestimating my own importance and/or presumed danger in the eyes of UNIT officials, but I don't want to take any chances."

"Okay. Can I get into any trouble for this?"

"No, I wouldn't think so. But if someone from UNIT rings you up, and they might, and it's not Larry, just make sure that you don't say your last name. It might tip them off. Just… I don't know, refer them to another PR agent. I'm sure they'll simply cut off the call."

"Wow. Your life… it's all cloak and dagger."

"And now the _coup de grâce_ : my new mobile phone number. It goes without saying that you don't give this to anyone you don't know for sure you can trust."

"Got it."

Martha recited the numbers, and said, "You can reach me anywhere in time or space. New phone… literally universal roaming."

"So you're going back on the road with him, eh?" Tish asked. Martha could _hear_ the smirk.

"Yes," Martha said. "I can't see any other life now, and not just because I'm leaving UNIT. I think… this is my home now – the TARDIS. Please don't tell mum."

"What if she asks?"

"She won't ask. I'll tell her in my own time, okay?"

"Okay, but…"

So it went. The sisters went round in circles about the events of Friday night and/or Saturday morning, about the future, the TARDIS, the Cherrywood Hotel…

And actually, for a while, Martha was able to forget the Eustarus, UNIT, her annihilated flat, and the fates of Larry Fortis and Colonel Mace.


	14. Chapter 14

**Okay, I'm going to go ahead and call this Part II.**

 **I am fond of this chapter. It has everything - every aspect of the Doctor's personality that we all adore, lust after and fear. And at this point, it's almost like a brand-new adventure... and yet...**

 **Don't forget to review! :-D**

* * *

 **PART II**

FOURTEEN

A full twenty-four hours after the Doctor and Martha Jones had snuck out of the cellblock level in UNIT headquarters, Martha spoke again on the phone with her sister. This time, it was Tish who rang.

"Hi," said Tish. "I've got Larry Fortis on the line here. I wasn't sure if wanted me to pass along your number or not, so I just decided to do a conference call. Hope you two don't have any deep dark secrets."

"Oh, okay," Martha said. "Larry, are you there?"

"Yeah."

"How are things?"

"Spectacular," he said with a bit of a chirp. "Mace and I have been sacked. And so have you, by the way, for whatever that's worth."

Martha sighed. "I figured." She had seen it coming and she tried to comfort herself with the fact that she didn't _want_ to work there anymore anyhow. But the high-achiever in her felt affronted, because she had never been fired from any job in her life. Not even when she was a teen.

"Larry already told me about this," Tish said. "I hope you don't mind. And I think it's totally outrageous, Martha. I'm so sorry for you. I mean, I have no idea the circumstances of your firing, but I'm sure you didn't do anything to deserve it."

"Thanks, Tish," Martha said with a smile. "So, Larry, that must mean that you had to sign a non-disclosure agreement?"

"Yep," he said. "I had to sign a ten-page document, with my initials at the bottom of each page. Mace's document was more like a-hundred-and-twelve pages. He's seen some serious stuff, I guess."

"Yeah, lots of stuff, quite serious," Martha chuckled. "I wonder how long _my_ non-disclosure agreement is... should I ever decide to play fair."

He chuckled as well. "They should have to pay you a sixpence every time the word 'doctor' appears in any context. You'll be rich in no time."

"Wait, what happens to you if you… disclose?" asked Tish.

"Imprisonment," said Fortis. "In a special United Nations detention facility."

"Is that really a thing?"

"Oh, yeah," he confirmed. "And they don't have to give you a trial, and they can hold you indefinitely."

"Blimey," Tish grumbled.

"There's an appeal process, of course," reported the physicist. "If we want our jobs back, we can go through channels. Mace was already talking about a defence strategy when we were escorted from the Tower. I, personally, don't think I'll be doing that."

"Are you certain?" asked Martha. "I know they have their… _flaws_ , but it really is an excellent opportunity working for UNIT. For a doctor, for a physicist, for a military man…"

"Yeah, but they're a bunch of brick walls who only see in black and white," Fortis argued. "I don't want to be in their midst, if this is how things are going to be."

"Well, how does one build a defence?" Martha wondered.

"I assume you sit in a room with a panel of ostensibly impartial parties, and calmly lay out the reasons why your getting sacked was one of the great injustices in human history. Preferably with a Powerpoint presentation, handouts and audio aids."

"Sounds like fun," Martha commented.

"Oi, don't knock the Powerpoint presentation, with handouts and audio," Tish advised. "Trust me. I'm in PR… a little of that goes a shamefully long way."

"That's what I'm saying," Fortis agreed. "And if you can get someone reliable to vouch for you, then you're all the better off."

"What about…" Martha began.

"The Brigadier?" asked Fortis, anticipating her question. "No way. He was _numero uno_ on that risk-of-compromise list. Actually… he was _numero dos_. You, Dr. Jones, were _numero uno_."

"What about the Doctor?" asked Tish.

There was silence on the line.

"Sorry," she tried, in response to the utter lack of anything said. "It's just… doesn't UNIT consider him to be, like, some all-knowing alien guru? I'm not saying he's not, I'm just saying…"

"Tish, I haven't told you the whole story," Larry said.

"You said you couldn't," she responded. "That agreement that you signed."

"Right. Let's just say that…"

"Actually," Martha interrupted. "It's not the craziest idea ever."

"Seriously?" asked Fortis.

"Technically, he's still on the payroll. _He_ wasn't sacked, was he?"

"No," admitted the physicist. "That will never, ever happen."

"He wasn't on the risk-of-compromise list," she said. "And UNIT is _just_ weird enough, _just_ devoted enough to the Brig and to the Doctor that they might consider the Doctor himself to have been a victim in all of this. And he was! This whole thing revolved around him, and they would most likely find no wrongdoing on his part, and might let him give a defence of Colonel Mace. And of you, if you wanted."

"Okay," said Fortis. "You make a good point. I'll ring Mace and see what he thinks."

"And you?" she asked.

"What about me?"

"Are you sure you don't want the Doctor to help you get _your_ job back?"

Fortis gave a great exhale, in contemplation.

"Come on," Tish said. "You said yourself it was the best, most interesting job you ever had."

"I did say that," he sighed.

"You said that what you went through… the thing that got you sacked… you said it was totally worth it just for the experience. And you couldn't have had that experience without UNIT, could you? Are you really willing to give up a job like that?"

"Wow, Tish," Martha commented. "You're more invested in this than I would have thought. Just how long did the two of you talk before calling me."

"Just, like... forty-five minutes is all," Tish answered, somewhat sheepishly.

Martha laughed. "Oh, is that all?"

Fortis ignored the whole exchange. "Okay, what the hell. Ask the Doctor if he'll speak on my behalf, and I'll see what Mace says. I'll text Tish with his answer," Fortis decided. "I'll admit, I loved my job. Even if there _were_ a number of operatives lying about who really were constantly asking for a conk to the head."

"Lovely," Martha chirped. "Just one more question. When are you two going out?"

"Friday night," Larry and Tish answered in unison.

* * *

According to a text message from Tish, Colonel Mace seemed to agree with Martha, that UNIT would probably accept the Doctor's evidence on his and Fortis' behalf, because though he had been at the centre of the Blue Alert conflict, he was blameless.

The hearing for both Colonel and physicist was set, much to everyone's shock, three days hence. Martha and the Doctor had sixty-eight hours to prepare an airtight, but also _moving_ defence. Martha tinkered with a few computer programmes, including one that she'd received from a friend in UNIT's software development department. They talked about what sort of presentation they would need – bullets points of their narrative? Charts explaining the Eustarus' function? A timeline leading up to when their "offences" took place?

Ultimately, they decided that their best bet was statistics on Colonel Mace's successes with UNIT, versus his perceived failures, and the same for Dr. Fortis. They spent an entire twenty-four-hour period doing research on UNIT's databases. Martha's clearance had been revoked and the Doctor's was limited anyhow, so they went in through the back door. The Doctor got round UNIT's ludicrous Doctor-proofing by sitting in Martha's kitchen, using Martha's laptop, with common, dodgy on-the-dole-living-in-mum's-basement hacker techniques.

But what they yielded was worth the trouble. Lawrence Fortis was a prolific physicist and researcher; he had spearheaded the development of several modifications to extra-terrestrial combustion systems that could be patented for practical usage in the next seven-to-ten years amongst the British public at large. Such a thing would make UNIT (and therefore, the government) a mint.

Colonel Mace had participated in nigh on a hundred alien interventions, and had _never_ been even suspected of negligence. According to UNIT's official records, nary a soldier nor civilian had died on his watch without cause, and/or because of a mistake on the Colonel's part. In fact, in at least fifty-six per cent of cases, an instance of "valiant effort" from Mace had been responsible for _saving_ the lives of soldiers and/or civilians. And, as it happened, his driving record was flawless.

Although the Doctor could think of at least one instance when Mace's stubbornness had cost the lives of a team of good men…

"You're not going to mention that in the hearing are you?" Martha asked, a bit incredulous that the Doctor would even bring that up just now.

He paused. "What? Oh. No, no. Of course not." And he went back to his reading.

Both Mace and Fortis had more accolades, and the Doctor pored over the data meticulously, working to memorise it, and mentally cross-catalogue them against their very few missteps with UNIT and any data he could find on value judgments regarding mistakes versus successes. For instance, violating a class-A protocol (attempting to escape UNIT HQ with Martha's keys), versus Colonel Mace's success in a code-black situation (using recreational mathematics training extremely quickly, to decode and disarm a bomb that might have levelled a town in Wales, inhabited by 4,000 people). UNIT, as a rule, did try to quantify everything, and as it happened, this would work in their favour.

Martha retired to bed on the second-to-last night before the hearing, and said, "In the morning, I'll compile what you've gathered, and make visual graphs of all of it, so you'll have it for the presentation."

But when she woke, she found the Doctor pacing back and forth in the console room, practising his speech. He had nothing written down; he had only the mighty power of his brain.

"Are you sure you're going to need visual aid?" she asked with a smile. "It would only distract from your stunning rhetoric! And I mean that!"

"You think?"

"Yeah. Take it from me… you're _awfully_ persuasive. Just on your own."

He smirked exhaustedly, the approached her. He took her hands, in his and kissed them both. "I'm sorry we've been so concentrated on work. We haven't had time for… you know, each other."

"It's all right," he said, shaking her head. "I suppose all of this is the cost of being together, in a way. Or, it's the price that I have to pay for my carelessness."

"No, stop…"

"Shh, it's fine. If we can get two good men their jobs back, then it's worth it."

"Okay, but be honest. How much coffee have you had in the last two days?"

"Oh, for our five barrels. You?"

"Only about three, but that's because I'm a Time Lord. I need less sleep than a human."

They both chuckled, then hugged, and sighed.

He kissed the top of her head and promised, "This will all be over, one way or another, by this time tomorrow. Then we can get back to the way life ought to be."

"Ought to be? You mean with foreign planets, aliens with tentacles, laser blasts and at least two near-death experiences per week?"

"Obviously."

"Brilliant," she chirped.

"Well, that… and also a lot of instances where we don't leave the bedroom for several days. Or wear clothes. I think that's really important."

"Oh, yeah. You've _got_ to have that," she said, feigning seriousness. She closed her eyes, savouring the embrace.

* * *

The Doctor finally went to bed an hour or so after that, while Martha, feeling rather well-rested for once, attempted to clean up her flat. They set a perimeter alarm in the TARDIS, and set the TARDIS in her foyer, so that they would be alerted if any UNIT officers (or anyone else) came poking.

That night, she went to bed at a relatively normal time, while he stayed up, obsessively practising his speech again, having added an impassioned description of what occurred after Larry Fortis had given them the key to his cell. That is to say, he was able to anchor himself against Martha Jones, which meant that he, the Doctor, long-since such a valuable operative to UNIT that they had created entire protocols to keep him safe and secret, was not completely lost to "the dark side."

And the best thing about this impassioned description was: it was the truth.

* * *

The hearing came to order at three minutes after nine a.m. on Wednesday morning and took place in a small room in the basement of a neighbourhood church in Kent. Apparently, the goings-on of UNIT was too top-secret to go on-record, which would be necessary if they were to proceed in any government building.

And so, there was a rectangular table at which four UNIT officers (two women and two men) and one UNIT scientist (a woman) squeezed together with their legal pads, an analogue tape recorder (no computers), Styrofoam cups of tea, and stern expressions. Fortis and Mace sat in rickety wooden folding chairs on the other side of the room, almost in shadow. Both men were wearing dark business suits, as Mace had been forbidden to don his UNIT-issue military uniform unless and until his appeal was accepted.

To the two men's surprise, it was called, "The reinstatement appeal hearing of Colonel Alan Mace, Lawrence Fortis, Ph.D. and Martha Jones, M.D." Martha, of course, had never appealed, and had opted not to attend the hearing – instead she decided to wait in the hall. That the assumption had been made, both Mace and Fortis took as a promising sign.

"Colonel Mace, may we start with you?" said the severe-looking woman in the middle of the table. "What say you, in your defence?"

The Colonel stood and said a prepared piece, which illustrated succinctly that he acted only in the best interest of the Doctor, without admitting to what those actions entailed. As he had ample reason to believe that the fail-safe was not going to operate in the manner in which it was designed to, he did only what was absolutely necessary to ensure that UNIT might maintain its highly effective liaison with the Doctor. No more, no less.

Next, Fortis stood up. He cleared his throat, then shrugged. "I guess I don't really have anything prepared. But, basically, what I want to say is… the Doctor is valuable both to this organisation and to this planet, and I witnessed him being crushed by the abstract weight of hypergravity. I tried to help him. If you think I'm a terrible human being… then I don't know what to tell you." He shrugged again and sat down.

The room fell silent as the panel of five all stared at the two men incredulously, with an unspoken _that's it?_ hanging in the air.

After about ten very heavy seconds, the door opened and a tall man in a pin-striped suit walked in.

"Hi, sorry I'm late," he said. "Ran into traffic. How are you guys? Have they started yet?"

Mace and Fortis both gestured to the panel, which, apparently, the Doctor had not seen yet.

"Oh, hello!" he exclaimed affably. "Nice to meet you, I'm the Doctor." He then lurched at them and proceeded to forcibly shake the hand of each member of the panel.

"Pardon me, sir, but are you, in fact, the Doctor?" asked the woman who appeared to be the panel's spokesperson.

"Yep. In the flesh."

"And you are speaking on behalf of Colonel Mace?"

"Yes, and Dr. Fortis as well."

"What of Dr. Jones?"

The Doctor's eyes squinted. "What _of_ her?"

"Will you speak on her behalf?"

"Erm… yeah. Wait, what?"

"Doctor, apparently, the hearing is for all three of us," Colonel Mace explained. "Should Dr. Jones wish to be considered for reinstatement."

"Oh, that's nice of you. Hang on a tic." He moved back toward the door, opened it, stuck out the top half of his body. "They want to know if you want your job back."

Vaguely, everyone in the room could hear the voice of Martha Jones say something colourful but unintelligible.

The Doctor protested, "Okay, okay… oi, language. Really." He closed the door and reported, "She says _no, thank you._ Now, then, may I speak?"

"Please," said the spokeswoman.

Seeing this panel changed the game. They were rather more milquetoast than the Doctor had been expecting, and something shifted inside his mind. He said almost nothing the way he'd practised, but he used every piece of relevant information that he and Martha had gleaned in research.

He began by giving the panel an absolutely dizzying astrophysical description of what the Eustarus was meant to do. The officers looked at the panel's only scientist for help, but even she was frowning at the Time Lord, as though trying to keep up.

He confused them by explaining in extremely hazy terms the circumstances which led to the Blue Alert being called at UNIT. He didn't want this lot knowing that their Chief Medical Officer had shagged their alien liaison, and that's what had caused the problem, at least initially. Things like that just look _terrible_ on paper, and if Martha was going to leave UNIT under the shadow of collusion with a possible rogue Time Lord… well, at least _collusion_ would remain the only incriminating noun in the charges against her, as it pertained to doing stuff with him.

Instead, he used the phrases, _certain events, particular utterances, specific confidences, given objectives,_ and the like, so often in his explication, the panel looked at each other with quizzical uncertainty multiple times before he was finished.

Then, he launched into the large accolades (and tiny gaffes) of both Colonel Mace and Dr. Fortis. He gave them _the math_. That is to say, if UNIT kept score (and it does), where would these two men end up?

"Firmly in the plus column, as you can plainly see," he concluded, after firing at them a tizzy of examples, numbers, variables and citations of UNIT's code of conduct.

Lastly, the _coup de grâce._ He went for the pain.

"Now, to conclude this sparkling display of rhetoric…" he paused, stood firmly, placed his hands in his pockets and took on a very earnest air. "Has any of you ever been sucked into a black hole? Well, neither have I, but part of my _consciousness_ was, but that's a hell of a lot more violent than it sounds. Energies that make up the essence of _me_ were taken and turned inside-out, pressed and perverted within me, and against a concrete floor. My options were, be pressed into an unyielding, rock-hard surface by a localised hypergravity field or… oh yeah, there _was_ no other choice. My air was cut off. I could not breathe, I could not speak. And do you know what it feels like to have your skull nearly crushed? You wait, with no breath, to hear a wet, sticky pop, and then silence and black. Imagine that, if you will. Just think about the world's slowest steamroller and the pavement.

"After a time, I could not even _think_ to find the words for what I was feeling. Couldn't have spoken even if I'd had breath. Literally _cosmic_ forces were imprisoning me and I did not know if I would come out of it dead or alive. Would I walk out of there regenerated or wind up a forgotten splat on the floor of a military organisation that values me so much, it imprisoned, and subsequently terminated employment of, two good men who tried to help me?"

He paused to let that sink in.

"I was drowning. Choking for my life. Horrified beyond measure, beyond any fear I have ever felt. And mind you, I've faced down Daleks and Cybermen and Sontarans and politicians. And the only hope I could see was…" he paused, and gulped. He had to play this bit with finesse. "My best friend – Martha Jones. Outside the bars. She was the only thing I had to hold onto. She was my lifeline, my anchor. She had everything I needed to survive, even if all that meant was that I didn't have to die horribly, all on my own. I could see her eyes, hear her voice, I could have all the faith in her that I wanted, but in my terror…" he gulped again with emotion.

He paused, gathered himself, "In my abject terror, I could not touch her. That's all I needed and wanted in what I thought could be my last living moments… just to hold her hand. And it's not just some touchy-feely emotional thing. I needed a physical anchor, much as Omega once needed one. His was a flute made of matter. Mine was a woman made of… well, love. She was the one thing I could cling to, to come out on the side of _love_.

"And this man," he said, turning toward Fortis, gesturing grandly in his direction. "Bless him, he took pity on me. And on Dr. Jones. Because he was there, watching, getting his hands dirty, doing what a _human being_ does, and not just sitting in an office somewhere, following _some protocol._ He felt the need to help. He couldn't just stand there and let it happen. So he took matters into his own hands. Yes, he assaulted UNIT officers. Yes, he stole a key. Yes, he opened the door to the cell of a prisoner who'd been deemed too dangerous to set free. But he also gave me my lifeline. He let me be touched. He put me together with the woman…"

He stopped short and checked himself. He almost said words he would have regretted saying in front of this panel… and frankly, in front of Colonel Mace.

"The woman who represented salvation to me. She couldn't stop what was happening – no-one could. But she could save my soul, as, truthfully, she'd done countless times before. And Lawrence Fortis knew that, and acted in spite of you lot."

The officers on the panel looked at one another, as if to wonder, "Did he _really_ just say that?"

"And," he burst out. "Then there's Colonel Mace. A nearly impeccable record, and you've given him the sack because he was seen by a junior officer, leaving HQ through a tunnel that he has full clearance to use, in a vehicle that he has full clearance to drive? And because he had a set of keys in the car that did not belong to him?"

"Well, Doctor, as you must know…" said the spokeswoman.

"Yes, I do know," the Doctor interrupted. "The keys in the vehicle Colonel Mace was driving were said to have been recognised by your junior officer as those confiscated from Dr. Jones. Well here's some news: protocol be damned, both Colonel Mace and Dr. Jones outranked that officer. All of you know in your heart of hearts that whatever bogus Blue Alert is happening, whatever class-A protocol, _rank_ reigns supreme in UNIT. Whose word, truly, from the depth of your conscience, do you think you can trust? Now, ask yourself this: what is, exactly, Colonel Mace's word on the matter? What is Dr. Jones' word on the matter? Have either of them been asked to confirm or identify the keys? What has the Colonel admitted to? What _actual proof_ do you have of anything?"

This time, the panel were too stymied even to look at one another, so they continued to stare stoically at the Doctor.

"I know you lot think you're impervious to the laws of Great Britain and of mankind in general," he continued cheekily. "But in point of fact, at the end of the day, you're just another government agency. Colonel Mace could find a lawyer _tomorrow_ who could cut through the red tape in the blink of an eye, and topple your case against him like a sandcastle. He was fired before being officially heard, for which he could sue the agency, and still have his job secure. Fortunately, Mace is too kind a soul to do anything like that, but if his appeal is rejected today, who knows what effect that would have on him?"

The fact was, what he was saying now, it was a total bluff. But the ladies and gentlemen on this unassuming panel looked absolutely dumbstruck. He could not imagine that they, here in this basement, would give him much resistance.

"In closing, I will just say this: the original vision of UNIT was not to be an impenetrable fortress of protocol and bureaucracy – _that_ is something that has grown around it over the years like a bunch of vines from the underbrush that eventually choke a perfectly good tree. Help unwind the vines today. Cut through the rubbish, and let two good, _effective_ men back into the taskforce. Or next time around… well, I don't want to say that it could be you, but…

"Anyway, have a lovely day." The Doctor turned to Fortis and Mace and gave a little salute. "Gentlemen." With that, he left the room.

* * *

Martha and the Doctor had no idea how long the appeal hearing would last, so once he had said his piece, they left the church and boarded the TARDIS, which was parked across the street. They rematerialised on the embankment near Parliament, had a chat and people-watched, before killing some time in the shops.

Just after dark, Martha received a text message from Tish. "Both Larry and the Col have got their jobs back. Pls thank the Doctor."

And, pleased with themselves, they locked the wooden doors and retreated into the blue box together, now with near-total abandon. Once alone, and now unencumbered, they crashed into each other like two stars combusting.

Their first night since their first night was incendiary and filled with promise. Martha was still rather in a dreamlike state; she was pliant and submissive, and yet vigorous and dynamic. She let him take her however he liked, but in the throes of passion, she _took_ back; she did not hesitate to seize upon the seeds of satisfaction and make them flower. She knew how to channel pleasure through her extremities, and how to communicate with her body. For the first time, as he began an earnest rise toward his own climax, it occurred to him that she _must_ have learnt all of this somewhere. Was he not benefitting from her past experiences… past lovers?

The thought of her learning these things with someone else made him ill with jealousy, even if most of it _was_ before they met.

 _No,_ he decided. _I won't just be one. I will be_ the _one. For her, I will be the only. I will erase other men, the ghosts of their hands (and other parts) on and in her. She's mine now, and I will claim her until I feel it so._

He thought of their early-morning tryst against the wall in the hotel. The secrecy he ordered her to maintain, the hot, urgent sex _right now_ that he demanded from her. All of that was settling in today, and the memory of it fuelled him

He also thought, oddly, of Mace and Fortis and how _easy_ it had been for him to bring the panel to their knees with his words and manner. He felt vindicated and powerful because he'd got what he wanted. The fact that Fortis and Mace wanted it too... that was a happy accident.

And he thought of this moment, this crashing, burning, out-of-control moment. She felt like a warm bath of crackling, glistening, tingling crystals. He sank into her, poured himself into her, filled her. She came hard, and he felt her insides throb and spasm as words of blinded bliss fell from her mouth.

He felt her pleasure along with his. He watched her face and body distort with explosion.

His doing, all his.

The whole episode was _exceptionally_ satisfying.

Especially now.


	15. Chapter 15

**This chapter is short, but shall make an impact! I hope, anyway. And it sets up some stuff that happens in the next couple of chapters.**

* * *

FIFTEEN

Martha stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, letting the sheets cool and her heart slow. For the first time ever, tonight she had set foot in the Doctor's bedroom in the TARDIS… and what a time it was.

The ceiling was domed like in the console room, with the same lit roundels. She had always liked the roundels – she felt they made the TARDIS feel more organic somehow. She knew the vessel was alive, but she thought, without the circular light sources, she might have difficulty believing it.

And how appropriate that they should extend in here, the most _alive_ place in the whole of this infinite space. Never mind that the console held the heart of the ship – this was where _the Doctor_ truly lived. She'd felt his passion nowhere like she had here, seen the restless flames in his eyes and felt him approach and tangle with her, unrestrained and unrehearsed. Never had she been so close to the raw Doctor, as she had been in this room, tonight. Not even in the Cherrywood Hotel at three o'clock in the morning on that fateful Saturday in the dark. Less than a week ago that was…

And yet, so much had changed. Her trust of him had been tested, and vice versa. Their relationship had gelled into being, and she had _told her sister_ about it! She hadn't realised until just now how very _real_ it made it, to talk about it with Tish.

Since Saturday, three highly intelligent and skilled UNIT personnel had been sacked because of her folly, and then two were reinstated. She had seen, she felt, the many different colours of Colonel Mace, a man whose "colours" she had never bothered to consider before. They had made a fast, solid friend in Larry Fortis, and Tish had a potential new love interest.

But bigger than all of it, more profound than anything else, was what the Doctor had endured under the pressure of the Eustarus. He had seen war, death, despair, the ends of planets, galaxies and even the universe (she knew, because she was there too). He was clearly a strong man in the face of just about anything the cosmos could throw at him. Just the fact that he was still standing was proof of this. But he wasn't hard-boiled. He wasn't entirely callused yet, and this was a miracle. Tonight, though, it seemed less a blessing than a curse. After all that he had done and seen, a pocket of hyper gravity having nearly crushed the life out of him… how could he not be a bit tormented by the experience?

"I listened to your speech," she said, breaking the silence. Under the covers, she reached out and grabbed his hand. "I stood close to the door and eavesdropped."

"Did you?" he asked. "Were you as dazzled as the UNIT panel?"

"I was," she admitted.

He turned his head and looked at her. "You were?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "I thought that your logic was unimpeachable. Your general powers of persuasion are formidable indeed."

"Thanks," he said. "It's all done with mirrors."

"But Doctor…" she began, tentatively. "The most convincing bit of the whole grand argument was the end."

"Ah."

"The part where you described what it was like… you know, in the cell."

"Well, then, mission accomplished," he quipped uneasily.

"Do you want to talk more about it?" she asked, carefully.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I don't want you to be traumatised. I don't want you having nightmares about black holes or your skull popping open."

He turned on his side and rested his head on his hand. He now looked down at her, with a little smile.

"You're very kind, Martha Jones. Almost chronically kind. Kind to a fault."

She frowned. "All I'm saying is… you've been through something big. If you're struggling with it, I want to help you work through it. Isn't that sort of my job now?"

"Sure," he shrugged.

She felt dismissed. She crossed her arms over her chest in a pout, and said, "Okay, if you're fine with it, then I guess I am too."

He took a deep breath. "You know what? Now you mention it… something _is_ sticking with me from that whole drama."

"Yeah?" She looked at him cautiously, waiting for some sort of sarcasm, some token revelation meant to shut her up. But she saw a faraway look in his eyes, serious, contemplative. He stared past her and seemed focused on the bookshelf against the wall next to her side of the bed.

"For so long, Martha…" he began. "For almost an _unfathomably_ long time, I've had my fingers in everyone's pies. Flagrantly flouting the laws of my people, getting involved all over the place, when I really, really shouldn't. Never intervene, never interrupt the natural ebb and flow of time and events… I suppose it'll come as no surprise to you that _that_ philosophy of the Time Lords has never made much sense to me."

"No surprise at all," she said softly.

"But as I was lying on that floor, terrified and in pain… well, in that situation, a man will contemplate his entire existence. And I can tell you, something in me changed. I mean, I can't say that I was thinking consciously about the Time Lord code of ethics at the time, but somewhere in the very back of my mind, that non-meddling rule began to make sense. I've stuck my nose in where it just didn't belong for most of my life… and what have I got to show for it?"

"Well, planets keep turning, people keep living…"

He shifted his eyes to hers. "But if those planets were meant to implode or those people were meant to die, then... it's not really my fight, is it?"

"Doctor," she said, sitting up in bed, sliding back to lean against the headboard. She pulled the sheet up to her underarms and sat modestly. "That's why you're _you_. Remember in the hotel, we were talking about how it's the _not normal_ that's so intriguing and attractive about you? That's what it means. It's not just the weirdness, with the spaceships and lasers and time travel. It's the valiance. It's the need to save everyone from themselves, and police the universe like… like a Sheriff without a gun."

"But think about it," he urged. "How many times have I saved the planet Earth? A thousand? Two thousand?"

"I have no idea. I can't even count the times since I've known you, and _that_ is a drop in the bucket."

He sighed heavily, like a ton of bricks. "It's a lot of saving. Somehow, the Earth always winds up in peril, and me, in my infinite benevolence, or my infinite egocentrism or whatever it is that makes me want to drag you lot out of the fire every single time… I do it. And _a lot_ of those times, it has been alongside UNIT. With Jo Grant, Liz Shaw, the Brigadier, Mike Yates, Colonel Mace… I've worked for them. Done their bloody bidding on and off for almost a thousand years from my point of view – over the course of five decades from theirs – and it all came crashing down on the cold grey floor of a holding cell in the bowels of their HQ."

"Are you looking for thanks?" she asked. She felt that his monologue was going in the direction of _these bloody ingrates,_ but that just wasn't like him. He had never asked to be thanked… in fact, it was one of the beautiful, glowing attributes that had made him almost a messiah figure to the people of Earth, during the year that never was. He saves you, just for you… no repayment necessary. Not even acknowledgement.

"No," he said. "I'm saying, it's all futile. And wrong. I've been wrong."

"You've been what?"

"I've been wrong," he said. "It took almost getting splattered to make me see it. To get involved. To trouble-shoot. To entangle myself with the petty concerns of your little planet. To work for an organisation filled with imbeciles, like UNIT."

She pulled her sheet up higher. "Doctor, what are you saying?"

"Just that. It's none of my business. More importantly, it's beneath me."

She all but choked. " _Beneath you_?"

"Does it really befit a Time Lord to constantly come back and save the planet's collective arse time and time again?"

"Wait a minute…"

"Of course it doesn't," he decided. "I am capable of so much more. I'm a _Time Lord_ , Martha. Last of. Can you even begin to understand what that means?"

"I can begin. But I feel that I'm understanding less and less by the moment."

He ignored her comment. "Four days ago, I was nearly swallowed up into a black hole that I created myself, in the interest of protecting lesser beings from what would happen if I ever came to my senses."

 _Lesser beings?_

 _Came to his senses?_ This statement chilled her to the bone.

He continued. "And it gave me perspective. How many brushes like this did I need to have before I realised… it's every man for himself and every _planet_ for itself? Some of us are born superior and that's no-one's fault. But I'm pretty sure I'm finished with trying to level the playing field."

"Erm… okay." She scowled hard, searching for words to say that would not alert or alarm him. "And you think… erm, that it was that _brush with mortality_ that gave you this new lease on life?"

He trained his eyes on her and narrowed them. "What else could it be?"

"I wouldn't know," she said cautiously. But that was clearly a lie.

She thought about last Saturday morning when she imagined a cold rage in the eyes of the Doctor if and when she ever told him she had the Eustarus in her flat. She was seeing that very ice storm now. At the time, she contemplated a world in which the Doctor was not on her side, in which she could actually fear him.

And at the time, it had seemed impossible.

* * *

"Tish, it's me," Martha said from inside a toilet cubicle.

The next day, she and the Doctor had decided to go to breakfast at a little country-cooking café near South Kensington. She had excused herself to the loo so that she could talk freely. Although, considering that the Doctor had given her the iPhone she was using and had recalibrated its frequencies and whatnot, _after_ the whole Eustarus debacle, she knew there was a chance that she wasn't speaking freely at all. But she had to do _something._

She hadn't slept a wink. The Doctor had said that something inside of him had changed. He was no longer interested in the petty concerns of planet Earth, and it seemed, he was content just to let it rot or be devoured by lions… or dare she fear, himself. He was a bit terrifying in the last moments before he'd turned over and gone to sleep, and there she was, lying in bed with him, all naked and exposed.

Thinking of what had happened before, she was very reluctant to bring anyone, even people she could trust, inside her fears. But once again, she had a secret that was too big for her to carry about on her own. She had lain awake all night wondering what to do about it. Torturing herself, actually.

In the end, she decided, it would be safer for all involved if she at least told _someone_. And though it had perhaps been a mistake to tell Larry Fortis the first time she suspected the Doctor, considering what they'd all been through together, she decided to take a chance again. She hoped that Larry would be smarter and more discreet this time.

And so, she continued on Tish's voice mail. "You and Larry are going out on your date tomorrow night, yeah? Well, go on your date, and have fun – I wish you well. Larry's a good bloke. But when your date is well and truly over, I need the two of you to meet me… let's say, over at Leo's flat. Text me and tell me when you're on your way."

Next, she rang her brother and asked if she, Tish and Tish's "new boyfriend" could come round and use the billiards table in his converted cellar tomorrow night.

"Sure," he said. "We'll be down at the pub with Maisie and Rick. The little one will be with mum, so… yeah, no problem."

"Great, thanks."

"The key is under the mat."

* * *

When she slid back into her chair across from the Doctor, she said, "Leo just rang."

"Yeah? How is he?"

"Doing well," she said. "Making some money finally. He's invited me and Tish over tomorrow night to break in his new billiards table, in fact."

"That sounds like fun."

"Yeah, he's got a new flat with a converted wine cellar on the garden level… actually, it's posher than my flat."

"Can you even play billiards?" he asked with a smirk.

She shrugged. "Not really… it's been a while. The three of us used to play at my grandparents' holiday home in Brighton in the summers. The last time we played, Tish won, but Leo maintains she cheated."

"Oh. Rematch?"

"I suspect so," she said with a chuckle.

"Okay. Have fun."

She now had set up a way to "share" this burden with at least one other person who would understand, and had built herself a thirty-six-hour window in which to contemplate the implications.

And almost on-cue: "In other news," the Doctor said after a deep breath. "Did you talk with Fortis yesterday at all? Or today?"

She grew hot and prickly all over, and her breathing accelerated, she hoped, imperceptibly.

"No," she reported, clearing her throat awkwardly. "What would make you ask that?"

"Well, just that we helped him get his job back. I thought he might ring. He and Mace both, I'd have thought."

"That _was_ owed to them after what they did for us. After I screwed things up so royally. Perhaps it's all sitting very nicely with them, the scales balanced and whatnot."

"You're right. We're even now."

"They still might ring," Martha offered. "What's to stop us ringing _them_?"

"Nothing, I suppose," the Doctor muttered. "I just think it would be good for us in the long-run if we maintained a strong relationship with them. And I think it would be better if _they_ initiated that relationship, and not us."

"Okay. Why?"

He ignored the question, and sucked in air very quickly. "If the opportunity arises, we should definitely try to help them out again. Hopefully they will reach out to us soon, and we can be on the lookout for ways to intervene."

"Opportunity? As in, it's an opportunity for us?"

"Yes."

She searched his face. He seemed to be looking out the window at the passers-by, and concentrating hard on a cup of coffee. "Okay, but didn't you say last night, no more intervention? Not becoming for a Time Lord, or whatever?"

He shifted his eyes to hers. " _This_ is not what I meant by that. I was talking about time and space and the cosmos and all that rubbish. The grand-scale meddling I've always done. But on the small-scale, much as it pains me, I'm going to need to be, you know… _in it_ for a while."

"In it?"

"Yes, getting my hands dirty with the small things."

"Helping people in small ways _pains_ you?"

"Come on, Martha. I'm not a saint. Over nine hundred years of doing what I do… pff."

"Wow."

"I'm not a saint, and unfortunately, I'm not a god. I can't just…"

"What? Can't just what?"

He seemed to be measuring his words, then he said, "Well… it never hurts to have friends in strategic places, Martha, that's all I'm saying," he reasoned darkly, not making eye contact. He took a pregnant pause, sipped his coffee, then set the mug down reverently upon the table. "Especially friends who think they owe you."

She would have liked to dig, and to point out what she had reminded herself of the night before: that it wasn't like the Doctor to feel "owed" anything, even if he clearly was. He called in favours every now and then when someone or something he cared about was in peril. But she had never pegged him for someone who only did things for the return.

She refrained from speaking now, however, because she knew that this wasn't just a case of the Doctor not acting like himself. There was something else under his skin, and she had a very strong, and sickening, suspicion about what had caused it.

It appeared that she would be paying even more for her mistake.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading. Don't forget to leave a review!**


	16. Chapter 16

**When we left off, Martha had phoned Leo and asked if she could use his home for a secret meeting with Tish and Fortis, to discuss what she suspects about the Doctor.**

 **Hopefully this chapter will answer a few questions I've been getting... 'cause it's another great big info-dump! It's long both in length and exposition!**

* * *

SIXTEEN

The following night, Martha arrived at Leo's flat around seven, as this is when she had told the Doctor that she would be meeting her brother and sister there. She felt terrible about lying to him already, but circumstances may have demanded it. She told herself, at least she wasn't lying about where she was, only about why she was there. And _maybe_ it could be said that she thought Leo might be there for a rematch with Tish…

But no. She had lied and she hated the feeling it gave her in the pit of her stomach. She also had the sinking feeling that she was about to repeat her mistake, the very mistake that had got them to this stage. But without repeating it, there might be no hope. There was no way she could reverse this damage on her own, but a physicist with access to extraterrestrial knowledge and technology might just have a shot. It was one hell of a catch-22 she had created for herself, and for the Doctor. This time, at least she felt more sure that she could count on Fortis' discretion, if for no other reason than, like it or not, they were probably about to drag Tish into their very weird world. If her sister was going to run interference between Martha and Larry, and also date Larry, then she rather deserved to know what the hell was going on. They couldn't continue asking her to speak in code, without knowing what she was saying. It wasn't fair, and Tish would only put up with it for so long anyhow.

Martha lifted the mat and found the key, let herself in, turned on the lights and marvelled at how well her little brother had done for himself. This was especially considering that a year ago, he'd been kicked out of his girlfriend's home and living in a boarding house. Fortunately, they were back together now and making better life choices.

She wondered if they had any alcohol (she reckoned they did) to calm her nerves. She went straight for the refrigerator and found some white zinfandel, and a few bottles of a heavy French beer that she had tried once at a party she'd gone to with Tom.

Tom. Now there was a name she hadn't thought about in a while. It felt like ages. She felt a bit guilty that in the short time she'd been on this new adventure with the Doctor, she hadn't taken a moment to honour the impression that Tom had made upon her life. Even if that impression only served to show her the shape of how she did not want to live, Tom deserved at least _some_ attention from her. But the past week and a half had just been a whirlwind of new, high-running emotions, danger and very careful stepping… there had been absolutely no time.

She thought about that life, engaged to a mild-mannered paediatrician, working forty hours, in bed at a reasonable time and all that. She thought about having left behind the travel, the adventure, the adrenaline, and telling herself that's what she wanted. And yes, if she'd remained with Tom, she likely wouldn't be in this particular jam, of having to lie to the man she loved in order to protect him (and possibly others) and work out a cloak-and-dagger scheme with a UNIT physicist and, bizarrely, her sister. But then again, she wouldn't _have_ the man she loved if that were the case, and that was the biggest flaming beacon in the fog of doubt that surrounded Martha Jones and Tom Milligan.

Not to mention, Tom wasn't scheduled to come back to Britain until well into the winter, and possibly not until spring. She would probably be home, changing into her pyjamas, getting ready to order Thai food from the little place on the corner.

On some level, that all sounded very sweet and appealing. But then she thought about the past week; what she'd been doing last Friday night (and who she'd been doing it with). All of _this_ was totally worth it, even if the Doctor was acting a bit bizarrely…

Nevertheless, she took a bottle of _Saison d'être,_ and popped off the top using the opener stuck to the fridge by a magnet. She went into the basement to shoot billiards without the judgemental remarks of her siblings.

* * *

A little after nine o'clock, Martha had got bored with playing billiards on her own, and she had retired back upstairs just to kill time with the telly and her feet up. She was also on her second _Saison d'être,_ and was feeling relatively relaxed, but not yet addled by the alcohol.

That was when she received a text from Tish stating that she and Larry were on their way, and Martha replied that she would leave the door unlocked.

At half-past, the front door opened and she heard Tish's voice chirp, "Hello?"

Larry Fortis stepped into the house behind Tish, and he locked the door as he did so.

Tish shed her cardigan and draped it over a chair and headed straight for where Martha was seated. "What's going on? Your voice sounded so weird on the voice mail, something was _clearly_ wrong, and then you wouldn't answer my call…"

"What call?" Martha asked, leaning forward to put her nearly-empty bottle on the coffee table.

"I tried phoning you a bunch of times after I heard your message, but nothing happened."

"What do you mean, _nothing happened?"_

"I mean, your voice mail didn't kick in, no-one answered… it didn't even really ring. I mean, it rang once on the first call, but then it never rang again, no matter how many times I tried."

"I see," Martha said darkly. She pulled the iPhone from her pocket and began to go back through the call history. There was no record of Tish having tried to phone yesterday, and she told her sister as much.

"Well, that can happen when the service provider…" Larry offered.

"The Doctor is the service provider," Martha interrupted.

"Oh," said the physicist, with a confused frown. "Then what…"

"He blocked the call," Martha reported curtly.

Suddenly she felt sick. If he was blocking a call from Tish, it meant he was spying on her via her phone, and controlling it, to some degree. It meant he knew things she didn't want him to know. He knew she had lied to him, and he knew why.

"Shit," Martha spat, after thinking it through. She stood up and began to pace.

"What's wrong?" asked Larry, looking very concerned.

"Why would the Doctor block a call from me? And _how_?" Tish wondered aloud.

"He gave me that phone. He rigged it to call from anywhere and anywhen… it bypasses all service providers. Like I said, _he_ is the service provider. He's got a tap into it. He must have it dialled into the TARDIS somehow, or into the sonic, or into his brain… I don't know."

"What? Is he getting to be some sort of stalkery-controlley boyfriend now?" Tish asked. "Was he like that before you were sleeping with him?"

"Ohhhh, God," Larry groaned, leaning back against the wall to steady himself. "I think I know what this is."

"Yeah," Martha whispered, stopping her pace, and placing her palm against her forehead. "I really fucked up, Larry."

Larry took a deep breath. "We've been over this, Martha. You did what you thought you had to do."

"But if I hadn't jumped the gun…"

"Remember I jumped the gun as well," he reminded her.

"…we could have avoided so much bloody headache, and possibly _creating_ the rogue Time Lord we were actually trying to quash."

"Excuse me?" Tish asked, eyes wide as saucers. "Please tell me you did not just use the phrase _Rogue Time Lord._ Because I've met one, and I didn't like him. Not one itty bitty bit." Her voice was shaking.

"Okay, I don't think that it's reached that point yet, and…" Martha tried to assure her.

"Is the Master back? Is that what you're telling me? Because I saw him die, just like you did! You were there! What the hell, Martha?" Tish asked, now herself becoming tense and getting back to her feet.

"Okay, look," Larry cut in. He took her by the shoulders and urged her to be seated again. "Let's all just take a breath, and have a seat. Martha, if we're going to deal with this, then it seems like we kind of can't keep the details from Tish. Let me rephrase that. I don't _want_ to keep the details from Tish."

"Yeah, me neither," Martha agreed, also sitting down. Larry did likewise, and now Martha was between them. "Okay, Tish, here it is: sometime in the early 1970's (which is several centuries back, from his point of view), the Doctor became afraid of what would happen if he ever somehow went rogue. He'd dealt with the Master, he'd dealt with this other Time Lord called Omega, and reckoned that if _he_ ever came to that fate, the universe was in loads of trouble. So, he created this thing called the Eustarus, which could be unleashed upon him, should it ever occur. He entrusted it to UNIT, and it got passed about from one operative to another, before it finally wound up in my flat."

"Your flat?"

"Yeah, for two reasons. One, because the Doctor continued to believe that it was still in a vault, and if he ever came looking for it, it would be off-site, which would buy them time to activate it."

"Very smart."

"And two, because it would take someone like me, someone who knows the Doctor well, to fully recognise behaviours that would indicate that use of the Eustarus had become necessary. Make sense?"

"With you so far," Tish said, nodding.

Martha took a deep breath. "Well, as you know, the Doctor and I spent some time together last Friday night."

"I do know."

"Certain indicators clued me in that he had changed," Martha said.

"Certain indicators?"

"The way he was dressed. The way he talked and moved. The way he held my hand and danced with me. The fact that it was happening _at all,_ and especially the preparation he'd put into seeing me," Martha recited, remembering, almost despairingly.

"A guy goes all-out to impress you, and you think he's evil?" Tish asked. "Trust issues, anyone?"

"He's not just any guy, Tish, you know that," Martha protested. "Besides, Larry had given me a list of criteria that the Doctor himself had drafted all those years ago. Things to look for. Sudden changes in deportment, that sort of thing. After the night we had, I was sensitive like an exposed nerve. Then, I was starting to panic. Everything was new... everything felt like an anomaly."

Tish was nodding along, brow furrowed, listening closely.

Martha took another deep breath and prepared to reveal the real reason for her initial suspicion. "Most damning of all…"

"Yes?"

"Most damning of all was the fact that we woke in the middle of the night, and the Doctor got very wound-up somehow. There was a sleepy fog, and he came over a bit domineering, and basically demanded sex from me."

"What?" Tish shouted.

"What?" Larry echoed.

"Relax, it was fine," Martha said. "I gave him what he wanted _more_ than gladly, believe me. But he made me promise that we belong to each other, and that no-one else would ever be 'let in' to our liaison. Then in the morning, he started trying to convince me to accept this promotion I'd been offered. And it all seemed fit, at least in my mind, within the criteria of what we might see if the Doctor went…"

"…all Darth Vader," Larry finished.

"I thought he was trying to use me to infiltrate UNIT somehow, and therefore control Earth's relationship with the rest of the universe, and eventually hold insidious control over all the cosmos or some such nonsense. So I told Larry about it because we'd sort of become friends, and he seemed to know a lot about the Eustarus…" Martha explained.

Larry sighed. "And what did I do? I alerted the higher-ups. It was stupid. I should have waited for more evidence…"

"You did your job," Martha said firmly, cutting across Larry's self-defence. "No-one could fault you for that."

"Okay, so what happened then?" Tish asked, enthused about the story.

"Well, after an unfortunate chain of events, the Doctor and I each wound up in a cell in the basement of UNIT HQ. They sent someone to break into my flat to find the Eustarus and _they_ detonated it. The impact of it, the physics of it, nearly crushed the Doctor to the floor of the cell. It was unbearable to watch," Martha said, almost down to a whisper now. She swallowed hard. "Almost squeezed the life out of him."

"Yeah, but it didn't," Larry reminded her.

"Right," she agreed. "And I'll tell you why. Because Larry went and got a key, and helped us out. The Doctor and I could be together, so… well, long story, but it seemed that this was what would help the Doctor survive the process intact."

"The two of you being together?" Tish asked.

"Like I said, long story. He needed an anchor, the anchor was me… we had to be touching."

"Okay," Tish accepted with a frown.

"The fact is, though," Martha continued. "The Eustarus was never designed to be unleashed on a normally-functioning Time Lord, which was what we had. It was supposed to take a bad guy and turn him inside-out."

"Oh. Uh-oh," Tish commented. Realisation shone in her eyes. "Instead it turned a good guy inside-out."

"I'm afraid so."

"But you can't blame yourself for that, can you?"

Martha threw her hands up in the air in despair. "I knew they had protocols! I'm clever, I knew what would happen if I told anyone within the organisation what I thought was happening! I should have waited another few hours and spoken to the Doctor again. If I had, I would have seen…"

"Okay, so…" Larry said, gesturing grandly with his hands, cutting off Martha's self-deprecation. "What makes you think he's gone to the Dark Side this time?"

"Wednesday night after we got word that Larry and Mace had got their jobs back, we… well, that's neither here nor there," she covered sheepishly. "The point is, afterwards, he started talking about how saving the Earth, and other planets, really… it's not his fight. He said UNIT is filled with imbeciles and it's beneath him to work with them."

"Beneath him?" Tish asked, shocked. "He said that?"

"Yep. In fact, he said it was beneath him, unbecoming of a Time Lord, to keep saving the Earth. He says he's capable of more. He said he's finished trying to level the playing field, and that…" her eyes shifted nervously to Larry. "…it helps to have friends in strategic places. Especially if they think they owe you."

"Is that why he helped me get reinstated?" Larry asked.

"Very likely."

"He's starting to talk like a man who wants to actually wield the power he possesses."

"Yeah," Tish said. "I don't like that."

"You think _you_ don't like it?" Martha snapped.

"He's talking like he actually _does_ want to infiltrate UNIT, but he's going to use me and Mace, instead of you. Martha, did he try to convince you to take back your job?" Larry asked.

"No, he didn't."

"It just seems that the sort of slippery, stealthy influence he's looking for could be much better accomplished through the ears and actions of someone he's, you know, shagging."

"That occurred to me before, in my initial (erroneous) analysis, the one that got us into this mess," Martha told him. "You know... a good shag, guards come down, minds are open. Private whispers in the dark turn into action, and the next thing you know, the Doctor is running UNIT in a hundred devious ways."

"So you do have a plan?" he wondered.

"We'll try to just stay in a holding pattern without engaging him until a new Eustarus can be made."

"Excuse me, what?" Larry asked, incredulous. "Did you just mention _forging another Time Lord fail-safe_?"

"Yes."

He folded his arms and sighed. "You expect me to work out how to do it, don't you?"

"Better the physicist than the physician, yeah?"

"I guess. But you know I'm not a Time Lord, right?"

"Yeah, but you've got files!"

"Still, it could take me _years_ , Martha."

"We've got a time machine, Larry! Do your best – it's all I can ask," she told him.

"It sounds flipping impossible," Larry complained.

"Well, have you got a better idea?" she wondered.

"No," Larry conceded. "But we're going to need to do some serious reconnaissance. We'll need some time. You're going to have to phone him and beg off for another couple of hours."

"She doesn't need to do that," said Tish. Of Martha, she asked, "I mean, you're not going back to him, are you?"

"Well, yeah," Martha admitted. "I am."

"Martha, are you mad? Do you want to turn into Lucy Saxon?"

"I'm not going to turn into Lucy Saxon," Martha assured her sister, rolling her eyes. Though, the thought had occurred to her. "I can't just leave him, Tish. I need to help him. And to do that, I need him to trust me. I need to be close to him. I need to know what he's up to."

"You're practically a prisoner," Tish pointed out, waving away her sister's remarks. "But whatever. It's your life."

"Well, what do I do once this is all over? I'll still love him. I'll still want to be with him," Martha argued, not daunted at all by her sister's dismissal. "I am not a fair-weather companion. I'm not going to just pack my things and bugger off until he's himself again, and then expect him to take me back."

Tish stood with her hands on her hips and asked bluntly, "Are you still going to have sex with him, while he's, you know, evil?"

"Wow," Larry said. His eyes looked like they might pop out of his head.

"He's not evil," Martha protested.

"In the end it doesn't matter. You're the Moll. The Miss Tessmacher. The Lucy Saxon figure."

"Look, Tish," Martha began, emphatically. "I gave up my right to live a nice, neat, safe little life the moment I took off with him that first night, in the alley behind the Market Tavern. From that instant, I was involved inextricably. Not only did I agree to the grand adventure, the running and jumping bits, but I also became a target. I had a price on my head in certain parts of the universe almost immediately, simply because I'd become friends with the Doctor. He's the scourge of so much of the universe's scum, I can't even tell you. They gun for him, and people he cares about, all the time. I can't escape that _ever_ , so I might as well stick with him, yeah?"

"Martha…"

"No, Tish, listen. The Doctor as we know him, he is a good man with an outlaw's edge. Which is a gross oversimplification, but suffice it to say, it's a very effective combination. It means he can outthink and defeat the bad guys and save the world time after time, and be alive to tell about it almost a millennium later. With _that_ Doctor out of commission, what will become of us, eh? Who do you think is going to kick the Master's arse the next time he tries to take over the Earth?"

"The Master is dead."

"But the next megalomaniacal alien nutter, whoever he or she may be, is very much alive, so the point stands," Martha pointed out, ploughing through Tish's comment. "Who's going to put the shields between realities back up, the next time some talking amoeba from the armpit of the cosmos decides to tear them down? UNIT? Torchwood? The Russian Mafia?"

"Okay, fair point," Tish conceded, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Right," Larry cut in. "Martha, you're going to stick with him, honour your commitment to him, which is very admirable. But it's going to mean a bit of manoeuvring. You'll have to lie to him more, so that the three of us can, quite frankly, conspire against him. Maybe even more manoeuvring than that, if he already knows that you're in contact with us, and why. And he seems to know."

"Bloody phone," Martha muttered.

"And speaking of which, as the Doctor himself knows, time is of the essence," he said. "You call the Doctor and buy yourself a few more hours. I'm going to HQ, to see what I can dredge up."

She exhaled loudly, with exasperation. "Fine." She dialled, and as she did so, Larry kissed Tish on the cheek and left through the front door, reminding her to lock it behind him.

When the Doctor picked up, Martha said, "Hiya. How's tricks?"

"Tricks is fine," he answered, sounding utterly like himself. "Bit boring without you, but I'm coping."

"Well, if you think you can do without me for the night, I think I'll just stay here."

"Oh. Okay. Why?"

"Tish and Leo and I decided to make it a full-on sibling night. We're going to make some popcorn and sprinkle it with chocolate milk powder, and watch _Ghostbusters_ like we did when we were little."

"I swear, it's good!" Tish called out, so he would hear.

He chuckled. "All right. Do you really think you kids should be having chocolate at this hour?"

"No," she told him. "But our mum and dad aren't here. Shhh."

"Who won the billiards tournament?"

"Tish," she said. "Leo thinks she cheated again, though."

"Ah. So you foresee more rematches?"

"Almost certainly," she reported, then feigned a tired sigh.

"I see," he said. And in those two words, Martha caught a hint of bitterness, or anger, or calculation. He could see her building up an excuse to be away again in future. "Well, have fun. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay. I'll plan to be back around noon – just to give us some time to sleep in. Where have you parked the box?"

"In Prince's Square," he said. "But I'll just materialise across the street from Leo's, say, at 11:55."

"That would be nice – it'll save me a punch or two on my Oyster card."

"Right."

"Good night," she said, her voice quavering a bit.

"Good night. I love you."

* * *

At some point in the next couple of hours, Leo and his girlfriend arrived home rather pissed, and stumbled off to bed.

Diving into a pot of coffee, and not a bowl of chocolate-sprinkled popcorn, Martha and Tish sat at the table in their little brother's kitchen and did some very futile research.

"Damn it," Martha exclaimed, letting her heavy hand drop to the table after what felt like eight hundred searches had produced nothing of use. "Looking up bizarre, esoteric stuff on the internet which might actually be an official secret… well, it's a hell of a lot harder without a sonic screwdriver."

"I'll bet," Tish muttered.

Obviously, a Google search of the word "Eustarus" had not worked. They could find no clues on the Time Lord known as Omega, nor any indicator that a localised black hole/supernova/hyper gravity field had ever been isolated on Earth. Nothing of the reading that Martha did on astrophysics, explaining the "mechanics" of the phenomena, seemed to suggest that something like that was even possible, except at the macro level. An exploding/imploding star took up a whole pocket of the universe – how could anyone compress something like that into a box smaller than the average toaster? The greatest physics geniuses known to mankind had published _nothing_ on the subject.

"So basically, we're asking Larry to try and work out how to do something that hasn't even occurred to Stephen Hawking," Tish commented.

"Well it _does_ sound impossible when you put it _that_ way," Martha replied, annoyed.

Larry phoned about two hours after he'd left.

"I decided to start by gathering as much of the Doctor's file that I could find. But I'll have to wait until daylight for some of it," he reported over the speakerphone. "I don't have keys to most of the offices around here. And I'm not willing to hit anyone with a fire extinguisher this time, sorry. I'll do some finessing, though, when everyone gets here in the morning."

"Did you find the part of the file that talks about the fail-safe?" Tish asked.

"Pff, even _that_ part is huge," said Larry. "And I've never seen the bit of it that refers to the actual forging process, if there is such a bit."

"Jesus. How big is that file?" she asked.

"No-one knows," Larry told her.

"Can't you just download it?"

"No, it only exists on paper. No electronic copy has ever been made, for fear that the Doctor will try to access it himself. Most of us realise that we've probably only seen the tip of the iceberg where the Doctor's concerned… in any arena. So, in the absence of any way to capture or understand him, we like to tell ourselves that we can control the situation by limiting his access to things. Honestly, I don't see of what value it is not let him see his own file. Like there's anything in it he doesn't already know."

"So you've got nothing yet?" asked Martha.

"Well, here's the thing," said Larry. "I ran into Colonel Mace on the way in. He's here, apparently, to catch up on some paperwork. I told him I was here to find pieces of the Doctor's file, and he didn't ask why… I suspect he'd rather not know. But he gave me what he had on his desk, and… it's kind of fascinating what I found out."

"What's that?" Martha wondered.

"Well, it's not useful for our purposes… yet. It might lead us a millimetre closer. Maybe. In future."

"What is it?"

"So, you know that the Doctor forged the Eustarus after his run-in with Omega, right?"

"Of course."

"I'm not sure if you know this bit of it, but it was _three_ incarnations of the Doctor that went into that fight, simultaneously."

"I did not know that!" she exclaimed.

"The first three," said Larry. "Must've been a trip and a half. But it was the third who did most of the heavy lifting, as it were, and became afraid of his own potential for evil, et cetera, et cetera."

"Right," said Martha. "You said the Doctor made the Eustarus while in his third body, in the early seventies."

"Yes, everyone who has ever come into contact with the Eustarus knows at least that much. But what I didn't know until tonight was that in the early seventies, because of some kind of interplanetary violation, he was basically banished to Earth, and not allowed to travel."

"What? Banished? By whom?"

"The Time Lords. Not only that, but his very _ability_ to operate the TARDIS was taken from him," Larry explained. "So, for a time, _the Doctor_ knew nothing of _the TARDIS._ He had to tinker with the console and work out how to fly it again."

Martha mused, "The Doctor without the TARDIS."

"The Doctor without the TARDIS was a scientific advisor, more or less full-time, for UNIT," Larry said. "But the point is, that for a huge chunk of time, right around when he would have been working out how to contain a black hole within a tiny box, _he might not have had full access to the TARDIS_. Which means, it's fifty-fifty that he used some UNIT facility to do the work itself. It's possible that somewhere within the Doctor's file, there is information as to where he did it, which might point us toward _how_."

"Great," Martha sighed.

"It's a long-shot, but it gives us a place to start."

"I'll tell you what," Martha said. "Phone the Brigadier. I don't have access to that direct line anymore, so it has to be you. Tell him the Doctor is in trouble, but it's confidential. Get him to guarantee secrecy, then pick his brain. He knew the Doctor at that time. He might remember something. He might recall a titbit of seeing the Doctor with strange equipment or… I don't know. Just ask him."

"Wait a minute," Tish interjected. "Are we absolutely sure that there are _no other_ Time Lords out there who could just make a new fail-safe device?"

"Tish, as far as I know, the only Time Lord to have survived the war, other than the Doctor was… well, you've met him. Charming bloke, he was. And even if he weren't dead, he wouldn't help us," Martha pointed out. "And if there were any others, I would have no idea how to contact them without the Doctor's help. And if there were any other species out there, non-Time Lords, who knew how to manipulate the physics of the thing, I wouldn't know how to identify them and I don't know if UNIT would have the resources to do that either. Especially not in a timely manner."

"I can put out feelers in the communications department," Larry offered. "I'll do it tomorrow. And I'll talk to the Brig. And I'll try and finagle some more pieces of the file using my considerable charm and guile."

"Sorry, Larry," Martha said. "If I'd known the circumstances, I'd have accepted my job back so that I could help you. I didn't mean to put so much of it on you."

"It's all right," he said. "You've got to sleep with the enemy, so I reckon a bit of hard work on my end isn't asking too much."

 _Sleep with the enemy._ The phrase made Martha shudder.

* * *

Larry never made it back to Leo's that night, and no-one expected him to. Tish and Martha fell asleep on the sofa, and at 11:45 on Saturday morning, Martha awoke to the faint sounds of the TARDIS materialising across the street.

"There he is," Tish groaned, stretching. "Time's up, I guess."

"For now," Martha said, standing.

"Are they not up yet?" Tish asked, pointing up, indicating the flat's owners.

"No way. You saw them when they came in. They'll be lucky to be up by this time next week."

"Ugh," Tish groaned. "Whatever."

The two of them left a thank-you note for Leo and his girlfriend, and an IOU to replace the _Saison d'être._ They exited through the front door, locking it behind them and replacing the key under the mat.

The Doctor stuck his head out through the doors of the TARDIS. "Good morning," he said. Then he looked at the non-existent watch on his wrist. "Or something."

"Good morning, or something, yourself," Martha said.

"Tish! Long time no see!" he exclaimed. "You're looking lovely."

"Thank you, Doctor," she said, a bit too formally.

"Fancy a lift home?" he asked her.

"No thanks, I'll take the Tube," she said.

"Oh, come on, I can get you there in five seconds. The Tube will take… well, at least _ten._ "

"That's quite all right, thanks," Tish affirmed curtly.

"Will you at least let us walk with you?" he offered.

"I can manage." She then turned to Martha and said, "Phone if you need anything. Or maybe e-mail?"

"Okay," Martha said. The sisters hugged.

Tish grabbed fast to Martha's hand and looked her dead in the eye. "I mean it."

The travellers watched Tish walk down to the end of the block, then turn the corner toward a Tube station they knew to be less than two blocks away.

"Blimey, what's with her?" the Doctor asked as they reboarded the vessel.

"She's just a bit leery of you," Martha reported.

"After all this time?"

"It has nothing to do with _all this time_ ," she told him, walking away from him, up the ramp. She stopped when she reached the console. "It's pretty much just the last five days."

"I see," he said, his voice as low as she had ever heard it. He then casually, but forcefully, threw the door shut and locked it.

* * *

 **I'd like to issue a warning here: chapter 17 will be rather DARK. You might already be able to see what's coming ... I just thought I'd put it out there now, so that you can anticipate and/or brace yourself. :-)**

 **Oh, and please leave a review!**


	17. Chapter 17

**So... the Doctor knows he's been found out! But he also knows Martha. And Martha, well... what can I tell you? She's got the Doctor under her skin. Always has.**

 **I hope you're appalled by this chapter, and yet it makes you smile anyway. In a related story, this is NSFW.**

 **And yeah, in case you were wondering, it probably does need to get worse before it gets better. Enjoy!**

* * *

SEVENTEEN

Martha Jones stood in front of the TARDIS console and tried to force down her fear, and stare at the Doctor with stoicism, without betraying herself. She was fairly certain that she was failing.

"So," he sang, shoving his hands coolly in his pockets. "You and your friends worked it out."

He walked halfway up the ramp toward her, and then stopped. He looked at her with disdain in his dark, narrowed eyes, but good God, was he gorgeous doing so. Her stomach fluttered, but not in sickness or nervousness. The flutter spread through her whole body, and landed right between her legs. She cursed inwardly.

Somehow the energy he was exuding caused a full-scale assault on her senses. The long, lean body in a closed-off, angry stance. The mussed hair, the five-o'clock shadow, both revealing of the rough interior. The deepened voice and the harsher tone. The betrayed power within – the time, the space, the knowledge – and the possibility that she might get to see what he was actually capable of, whether she liked it or not.

She gave a great push, and forced herself out of the undertow of lust that was threatening to drown her, but not without a great deal of effort.

And not before he saw her cheeks flush with desire, she was sure.

"No," she said. "I worked it out on my own – not like it was hard, Mister Saving-the-World-Is-Beneath-Me. My _friends_ just happen to want to help. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

He smiled crookedly. "Well," he shrugged. "I'm good at staying a few steps ahead of the humans."

She sighed, feeling defeated. "I've noticed."

"So, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be holed up in some undisclosed location, biting your nails and crying hot bitter tears over what to do about me?"

"You'd think," she told him."

"Well, you know I'd find you."

"Yep. I know."

"And I wouldn't really be inclined to let you go, once I did."

She nodded. "Couldn't risk that I'm actually as clever as you fear I am."

He smiled, and closed most of the space between them. "Oh, I already _know_ that you're that clever. But I don't fear it."

"No? Maybe you should," she croaked. She was trying, and failing, to sound vaguely threatening.

He was now standing only inches away from her. His voice dropped low again. "Martha, I think there's something you're not understanding."

"What?"

"I'd wager that just now, you're experiencing a bit of fear yourself, over possibly what I might do to you."

She gulped. "You'd be correct."

"And I'd also wager that you're experiencing some self-doubt, wondering why, oh why, as the anchor, you were not able to redirect the Eustarus." Then in a mocking, feminine tone, he said, " _Wasn't our kiss powerful enough? Am I not good enough for him? Why isn't he cured through my love?"_

She gulped a second time. "Right again."

"Well, Martha," he said gently. "Stop beating yourself up. Because the truth is… you were more than enough anchor for me."

"Excuse me?"

He placed his palm on her neck below her ear, and his thumb caressed her jaw. "You are strong and clever, and something in me naturally reaches out to you. Always has. It could be said that you have always been my anchor. And Holy Rassilon, you must love me, because…"

He closed the other hand around the other side of her neck and jaw, and kissed her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, after it was over. His hands were still on her.

"Remember when I said, as we were leaving the cells, that you had pulled me through to the side of love, to the side of Martha?"

"Yes."

"Well, you did. But it doesn't mean that I'm not also a changed man." He dropped his hands to his sides.

She frowned. "So... you love me."

"Oh, yes." To her surprise, she saw sincerity in his eyes, the down-turned supplicating look he sometimes got when he wanted her to understand him.

"Even now?"

"Yes."

"But you're… you know…"

"Evil?" he asked, with a smirk.

"Are you?"

"We'll say, I'm feeling generally free of the majority of previous moral obligations."

"The majority?"

"Well, never say _all_. Not free of _you,_ " he pointed out.

"I'm ever so honoured." Her voice was flat.

"I can see your hesitation, Martha. I'm not surprised. Because no matter how much your heart is in control, you use your brain. You demonstrated that when you left me, and even now, I think you did the right thing for that moment."

"Yes, let's talk about one of the most painful days of my life. I was hoping to open old wounds with a Rogue Time Lord, so that you could pick at them."

He smiled. "Ooh, I like it. Rogue Time Lord. Lording over Time, in Rogue-ish fashion. Well, blimey, I'm even a bit turned-on now."

She narrowed her eyes and studied him. Damn him, he could tell what she was feeling! He could read _lust_ somehow… in her body language, in her colouring...

Yet, he said, "There you go, using that brain of yours. It's reeling against me now, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is. I'm human. I'm a doctor. I took an oath to help people, and you've told me that you no longer want to do that sort of thing. That it's beneath you, unbecoming of you! You, who are, at times, literally _the only hope_ this planet has! And you've just said you have no moral compass. Tell me, love, how am I supposed to feel?"

"It's not that I have no moral compass," he said. "I just don't care anymore." He was gritting his teeth as he said this, and boring holes through her with his eyes.

She crossed her arms over her chest, and withdrew a few steps. She was now backed against the console, leaning. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. That Eustarus – what a number it did on you. Turned you inside out at your core."

"But the part of me that loves you… it remains. That's how strong you are. That's how much love you gave me in those moments. Because you were there, a bit of me was able to moor itself within you, and, well…" he gave a naughty eyebrow flutter. "A few _bits_ of me are pleased by that prospect."

The big, loud rush of hunger came back. In response, she took in a long breath, and again, studied him.

With a high, nasal voice, he mocked, " _This means there's still a vestige of good in him! It means I can love him into turning back!"_ Then he laughed.

She clenched her teeth because he had read her mind. She said nothing, and tried to grant him no emotion.

"Don't waste your energy, love, 'cause down that path lies disappointment," he said. "Your pain is my pain, even still, so I'd hate to see your heart get broken."

"This is madness," she whispered, her worried eyes staring into his.

"So, when I said before that I can't let you go, it's not _just_ because you may be a danger to me now, although that is a factor," he said. "It's because I'm in love with you. And that is also why you shouldn't fear for what I will do to you."

"I see."

"I _need_ you, Martha," he growled, taking a step closer. "And not just as some kind of a totem, or a way to feed my ego."

She nodded. "Okay."

She could tell from his body language that he was a coiled spring just now. His fists were clenched, and she knew from experience that he was dying to launch himself into action, whatever that might mean in this moment.

"Do you love me?" he asked, still growling.

"Yes," she admitted, though all she could manage was a whisper. "More, actually, than I ever thought I could love anyone, Doctor. In spite of my brain."

He closed his eyes as though he felt relief in hearing these words. Then he too whispered, "I said that I don't fear your cleverness. I'm not afraid you'll walk away and use your formidable brain to sabotage me, it's because…"

"You have faith that I love you too much to get in your way," she assumed.

"Yes and no," he said, sliding his index and middle fingers softly across her bottom lip. "It's because I know you well, Martha Jones. And I've already had a little taste of the shadow within you. And... _in spite of your brain,_ I've seen what happens when you let yourself be taken in the dark. You like a little pain. You like it a little rough, a little twisted. You like _me_ when I'm a little off-the-rails, don't you?"

"Yes," she all but whimpered. She felt her knees weaken, and an ember from deep inside became a bona-fide fire.

"Mm-hm," he said, trailing those fingers down over her chin and neck, across her collar bone, down her sternum, and threatening to breach the border of her v-neck top. "We saw it in the hotel in the middle of the night, didn't we? And we saw it again when Mace and your friend Fortis got their jobs back."

"You were already bad then," she rasped. She'd found her voice, but it was hoarse and she felt meek like a child.

" _Bad_ being a relative term, of course," he said. Her bum was already pressed against the console; he positioned himself so that her breasts pressed against him. "But yes. I had already been freed. That day, I had prevailed. Pulled the wool over everyone's eyes, and won. I was feeling potent and fierce and I got a bit wild inside my own head, I'll admit. Got a bit wild on the outside too, but you ate it up like it was sugar."

"I enjoyed myself, yes." She closed her eyes, as though by doing so, she could shut out his words _and_ his touch.

"Enjoyed yourself? Please. You came like a stick of dynamite in a sea crevasse at high tide," he taunted. "Multiple times." He gave her a smirk and a maddening tweak of his eyebrow. He ran his hand up her front and squeezed her breast hard, the way that had once made her pant and beg him to do it again.

She moaned a little, opened her eyes and nodded.

He continued. "So I don't care if you're clever. I don't care if you've suddenly unlocked the secrets of the universe and could now wave a magic wand and shove another black hole into a box to 'fix' me again. Because I'm more than a little -off-the-rails now, and I'll wager…"

In one quick motion he managed to turn her around and pin her once more against the console. Instinctively, she bent forward to catch a bit of leverage, and she felt his pelvis, complete with something thick, long and rigid, pressing against her bum.

And he continued to talk. "…I'll wager that you want it, even if I'm _sooooo evil._ Maybe even because of it."

She stood up straight. "Doctor…" she whispered, leaning her head back against him.

"Are you going to tell me I'm wrong?"

He wrapped his hands around her waist and began to tug at the button of her jeans. He pulled it loose, and then went for the zip.

"Oh, my God," she whimpered, worry betraying itself in her voice.

"Tell me to stop, and I'll stop," he said evenly, worming his hands into the v-shaped opening the zip had left. "I swear it."

"Damn it," she whispered to herself, but she offered no protest.

"Tell me I'm wrong about you, and I'll stop."

She was silent, and losing her grip.

"Just push my hands away, and I'll stop," he urged.

She leaned against him and waited for him to discover what he already knew: that she was desperate for him, that she was throbbing and wet and that he'd rendered her literally unstable on her own legs.

His fingers ventured beyond the elastic band of her knickers and down, down…

"Mm-hm," he said, arrogantly, as they dipped into a hot pooling of slick liquid. Martha shuddered, taking hold of the edge of the console. He bent and kissed her exposed neck, sucking and licking just a little as well.

"Are you bloody happy?" she asked, anger edging her voice.

With his left hand, he squeezed her breast again, and with his right, he began to rub her clit. With his pelvis, he kept her pinned in place, and with his voice, he said, " _Happy_ is one of those words like _bad_. I am vindicated. It's a _kind_ of happy, for non-simple people."

She exhaled raggedly, in exasperation. Annoyed, she hissed, "You talk too fucking much."

He laughed. "Not nice, but I understand."

As a response, he gave a swift, sharp pinch to her left nipple, and did not let go. She cried out, and her whole body surged into and against the sensation, but he held onto her tightly. He then rubbed two fingers in earnest circles against her clit, and felt her hips begin to move in rhythm, to accommodate the ramp-up and release.

All at once, in desperation, she cried out again, and dug her fingernails the edge of the console. He felt a good gush over his fingers, and watched her knuckles go white while her whole body trembled in orgasm. He swore he could almost _see_ the waves that shot through her like shocks, as she tensed and released, and writhed and strained.

She straightened momentarily, then leaned back against him in recovery.

He bent down and kissed her tenderly. "I do love you."

"I love you too," she sighed.

"You believe me, right?" He kissed her earlobe.

"I suppose I do. I don't suppose I have a choice."

"Do not doubt it for a second."

"Okay. I'm choosing to trust you on that. Even if on nothing else."

"Good," he said, withdrawing his hand from within her jeans. He sucked his index finger, then gave Martha the middle one. "Because changed I am – off-the-rails for good. A bit rough I might be. Maybe I'll be greedy and demanding and insatiable..."

She felt another infernal burn from hearing these words. Images filled her mind, and suddenly, all she wanted to do was shut out the world and become his prisoner.

"But I can certainly feel love, and I need you in my life. And I will never hurt you. Unless you ask me to."

"And as long as I do what you want."

"We can discuss the, er, terms of our contract later. For now…" he said, then he kissed three times the area just behind her ear. "… I'd like you to get on your knees."

"What if I refuse?" she whispered.

He whispered back. "That's all right. Go ahead."

He took half a step back and gave her a bit of room to move. Then she turned around, and with a spiteful lust in her eyes, she fell to her knees on the metal floor of the console room.

"Take off your jacket," she said to him, and he did, draping it over the nearest rail.

She reached up and rubbed the hard bulge at the front of his trousers, and listened to him groan.

"Look what power does to you," she commented.

He looked down at her sobrely. "It's not just power. It's you."

"Same thing," she shrugged. She unhooked his trousers. "You've got me where you want me, haven't you?"

"Yes."

She undid the zip and reached into his pants. She extracted an impatient, hard member and she stroked it gently. She looked up at him with coy eyes. "I'm on my knees at your bidding, with your cock in my hand. Are you going to tell me that this doesn't make you feel powerful?"

With that, she took it in her mouth as far as she could.

"No," he moaned, tilting his head back as she began to stroke him off with saliva and lips.

"Power. And what else do you feel?" she asked, before filling her mouth again.

He looked down and now could see the top of her head, and her perfect lips slipping over and over his length.

"I feel hunger," he said. "Greed. I feel… volatile. Like a powder-keg."

"Mm-hm," she urged, in a singsong fashion.

"And I used to know why I should hold back," he said. "But I don't know anymore. I see no reason. I am a superior being, and…"

With that, he grabbed onto Martha's head, both hands behind the ears, and began to thrust.

She took his wrists in her hands and removed them from her head.

"Sorry," he breathed.

She felt reassured that he'd backed off. It made her believe that he _really_ wouldn't hurt her.

"Superior," he repeated, panting. "All of us. Now I get it – Omega, Rassilon, the Master. The power. The greed. The urgency to take, take, take…"

She knew he was nearly there, nearly ready to explode. Just a few more seconds...

"The Doctor understood restraint," he said. "The Doctor as you knew him. I… I don't know why I am or why I shouldn't… why I shouldn't…."

And that's when he gripped her shoulder hard enough to hurt and her mouth was flooded. She had no choice but to swallow everything he gave, in order to keep up.

Not that she minded. In fact, she hadn't _minded_ any of this.

* * *

And she didn't mind when, an hour later, after a daredevil flight, hanging out the TARDIS door over the Violet Flame Pits of Manellan which do not appear on any known detection system or radar, he was feeling a rush of power and greed and volatility again and dragged her off to bed. Or at least to the bed _room_. The actual bed went deliciously ignored in favour of other articles of furniture.

And an hour after that, they lay on the floor wrapped awkwardly in the Doctor's beige and red comforter, and he asked, "So, did you get enough info to foil me?"

"What?"

"I know why you asked me before, what I was feeling," he told her, and he didn't seem pleased about it.

"Oh yeah, well, maybe that's how it started, but…" and then she trailed off.

"But what?"

"But nothing. I guess I forgot. Or gave up."

"Forgot or gave up? On your mission? On your sworn duty to see me healed? That doesn't sound like Martha Jones."

"No, it doesn't, does it?" She felt a little hollow at the moment, but no emotion stronger than that.

She also felt total physical exhaustion and satiety, but that was a different thing completely.

"You see, the Master and Omega… they were idiots," he said, turning on his side.

"Idiots? Really?"

"Yep. Megalomaniacs. The kind that goes too far. I've got a bit of that in me, always have. But at least I know I can't do things alone. Living as a good guy for nine centuries has taught me that."

"The best things in life are better with a partner," she said, silkily.

"Exactly. Sure, they could manipulate people, but ultimately, they worked alone. The one thing they lacked was a reliable, solid, like-minded friend… a cohort or co-conspirator. A companion."

"There was Lucy." Momentarily, Martha thought about how Tish had compared Martha to Lucy Saxon.

"Lucy might as well have been a robot. Or a side of beef. She was not a partner to the Master, she was his plaything. Eventually his dishrag."

She turned on her side now, as well. "So what you were saying back in the console room… before, you had reasons for holding back from unleashing your full Time Lord mojo and holding the universe hostage, but now, you don't know why you should bother to restrain yourself. And that defines the change in you? Can versus should?"

He shrugged. "I guess so."

"You can find no reason at all to restrain?"

"I know what the reasons are, just as I knew them last week. I just don't think they make any bloody sense."

"Hm," she commented, shifting her gaze absently to a spot just beyond his head.

Thing was, none of it made any bloody sense to her either.

"What?" he muttered. "What's that _hm_?"

"So, what _does_ the Doctor, unencumbered by morality, do with his genius?" she asked, genuinely intrigued and recognising a fundamental change within herself. In the last couple of hours, she realised, she had developed a vested interest in seeing where this would take them.

"The first question you should be asking is, what does the Doctor, _in love_ and unencumbered by morality, do with his genius?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed with a big smile. "That is a factor, then?"

"Of course," he said. "Because when I look at you…" He seemed to finish his thought with a big sigh.

"Yes?"

"I've got you and the universe to do with as I like," he said with a smirk.

"Yes, you do," she agreed.

"No more interruptions for planets in peril. No sharing you and your attentions with a crisis…"

"And I don't have to share you or yours either, right?"

"At least for now. Because when I look at you, knowing all of that, all I can think is..." he closed his eyes, as if to conjure the word. " _Indulgence._ "

"Indulgence?"

"Yes. Everything that feels good, and the taking of it."

"Whoa. That's what you think when you look at me?"

"Surprised?"

"Not anymore."

"I want it for you, and I want it for me. Total abandon. Freedom from any plans or obligations… just _indulgence_. Think of it as reward for being such do-gooders all our lives."

She looked to the side in whimsical wonder. "And what does _indulgence_ look like to a rogue Time Lord in love?"

"A big golden throne from whence I control the universe, including a dungeon filled with remote-controlled fire. And you at my side, perhaps with your own galaxy to rule. I'm thinking the Crawlawn, since they have an enormous number of diamond mines."

Her eyes popped open. "Wow."

He laughed. "I'm joking. Well, mostly. How about we start with some ocean? Lots of food, lots of cocktails, lots of sex, and lots of people waiting on us."

"That sounds much more doable. And amazing. And not very rogue at all."

"Well, you haven't seen how we're going to get it done."

"Oh?"

"Haven't you ever wondered why I don't do things like that more often?"

She shrugged. "Just reckoned you had no motivation."

"Well, that too. But I mean… I can pull off a couple nights in the Cherrywood Hotel, dinner at Le Cerise Noire, and a new suit by flashing about the psychic paper. What I couldn't pull off, without a bit of _freedom,_ is a whole month in a five-star resort, and our own personal staff."

"Why not?"

"Because someone who does what I have in mind will get looked-into, unless they pay with cash."

"Okay, I get it."

He sat up straight. "Now, the day is still young. What do you say we get started?"


	18. Chapter 18

**So... the previous chapter saw the Rogue Time Lord seducing his companion, and the companion not only submitting willingly, but also finding that she had had something of a change of attitude herself. The Doctor had said that he couldn't see any reason to "hold back" anymore, and Martha had agreed that the morality of it made no sense to her.**

 **I'm not gonna lie to you: this chapter is weird. It will feel almost like it doesn't belong to the same story. It is a bit of a B-road, but it exists for a reason. And not just because it was SO MUCH FUN to write! OMG, it was fun!**

 **The ruse is simple and a bit convenient, I realize, but I figured the Doctor would try and do something with computers under the radar to outsmart everyone, and play on their weaknesses, rather than organize a huge, elaborate heist. At least at first.**

 **It demonstrates a) Martha's state of mind. Or should we call it** _ **states**_ **of mind, in the plural? B) The Doctor's new behaviour as it escalates. His brazenness, and willingness to put people in danger, or at the very least, his lack of consideration regarding who he puts in danger, and how.**

 **Mostly, I just felt we needed a chapter in which Martha helps him do something semi-awful, before we begin the next phase of the tale, which shall begin the spiral toward the story's climax.**

* * *

EIGHTEEN

Around five o'clock that evening, Martha received a call from Tish. She knew her sister was calling to make sure she was all right, having boarded the TARDIS with an unhinged Time Lord. Martha didn't fancy talking about it just now, so she ignored the call, and then deleted the voice mail without listening to it. The thought of hearing Tish's voice pleading with her to ring back, consider walking away, think about her safety, her family, blah blah blah…

"Ugh," she groaned, shoving the phone into her back pocket.

"What?" the Doctor asked absently.

"Tish."

"Oh. Ringing up to make sure I haven't killed you yet?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Mm."

At the console, she watched the Doctor's hands and fingers flit over the controls.

"What are you doing?" she asked, watching in awe.

"A good old-fashioned internet search."

"What are you looking for?"

"I have a hunch…" he said. "You see, I met this bloke named Brandon a few years back – Frederick Brandon. I looked different then, so on the off-chance I actually have to speak to him face-to-face, he won't recognise me. Anyway, as I said, I have a bit of a hunch that he has _something_ we can use against him because he seemed rather… well, let's just say he creeped out Rose big-time, and he wasn't that clever."

"So, you want to blackmail someone?"

"Maybe," he shrugged, scrolling past information faster than Martha's eyes could even adjust. "Though, I was hoping for something a bit more interesting than that. Blackmail's so unoriginal."

"Who _is_ he?"

"He works for a huge bank, and his job is… well, he sort of _monitors_ the accounts. He has a secure team on-alert for large transactions, they flag them for the IRS, and/or notify the higher-ups in case of identity theft. Or, God forbid, a client is haemorrhaging cash and needs to be cut loose as a priority bank customer. It's mostly that last one."

"The IRS. So… American?"

"Yep. Good old New York City. I'm looking at his recent internet history. There's nothing dodgy in the last few days on his work computer, but…" His fingers flitted a bit more, and he exclaimed, "Ha. Gotcha."

Martha looked over his shoulder at the screen, but the text was in Gallifreyan. Though, there was a photo of a woman kneeling backwards on a velvet fainting couch, wearing black lingerie. The woman had a similar skin colour to Martha's, though the photo was mostly of her bum. Her face was only slightly shown, in profile, as she rested her chin on her elbow, at the head of the sofa.

"Jacinta Slick," he said.

"That's her name? Slick?" Martha asked with disbelief. "How subtle. Is she a porn star?"

"No," he said, pointing to some of the text. "This is an escort site. Frederick Brandon has booked her services for Monday afternoon."

"Oh. Good hunch you've got there, Doctor."

"Thanks. Let's see… she's five-foot-nine, and hails from the Dominican Republic," he read. The Doctor turned and looked Martha over. "Well… she's taller than you, not as gorgeous by half, and less British. But you'll do."

* * *

Two days later, following a trip into a Manhattan clothier to purchase a tasteful, yet revealing, black satin and lace dress (the second she had purchased in the past week and a half), she sat before a vanity mirror in the TARDIS and meticulously applied her makeup. It was a bit more garish than she normally would have dared, but this was not a normal day.

She then put on the dress, which had a wide, plunging neckline and a black satin ribbon tie in the back of the neck. The fit was snug, of course, and the hemline was mid-thigh. For good measure, she painted her fingernails and toenails a deep, sultry shade of red.

She had also purchased a fitted black raincoat to wear between the TARDIS and Brandon's office , so she wouldn't feel quite so exposed. She carried it to the console room with her, along with a purse with her iPhone, her lipstick, some cash, and the psychic paper, just in case.

She entered the room barefoot and struck a pose. "Is this enough Slick for you?" she asked.

He turned from his computer work at the console, and his jaw dropped. "More than enough," he breathed.

She walked forward. "Don't you think he's going to notice a seven-inch height gap and a _completely_ different accent?"

"Honestly? No," he replied. "Did you look in the mirror?"

"Yes, but this guy is a mucky-muck in a big bank! He can't be _that_ easy to…"

"Seriously, did you look in the mirror? Do you think he's going to care, even if he _does_ notice?"

She shrugged. "How am I supposed to know?"

"Trust me," he assured her. "His crotch will start doing all of the thinking as soon as you enter that room. He will forget his own name, much less remember all of the specifications from Jacinta's spicy profile page."

"This is probably a daft question, but… is this guy married?"

"Of course," he shrugged. "But it doesn't matter, because you're not going to touch him in any more intimate an area than his hands. Maybe an arm."

"Okay."

"I'm serious, Martha."

"Yeah. I know. Don't worry," she retorted curtly, annoyed.

"Just… you know… _vamp_ until I ring you with an 'emergency,' or whatever you want to tell him. That will be my signal that the worm is in the hole. Give him his money back, with a promise to send another girl, and then leave. Meet me…"

"Yeah, I know."

"Okay. Here's your secret weapon," he said, handing her a pair of high-heeled shoes. "We have a ten-minute window."

* * *

Martha made her way across the bank lobby looking confident, and stepped into the lift. When she reached the seventeenth floor, she told the receptionist that Mr. Brandon was expecting her. The well-dressed, middle-aged woman stood and looked her over, and sniffed, "Mm-hm. You're a new one."

Martha gave a little smile, but knew without a doubt that Brandon met with escorts at his office on a regular basis. Suddenly, fear seized her.

 _Oh my God. He knows Jacinta! He's going to know I'm not her!_

She was struck by a moment of lucidity just then. She was in this bind because she had trusted that the Doctor was right, that there's no way Brandon would notice that she wasn't the escort he had engaged, just based on details he had read on a website. But _the Doctor's word couldn't necessarily be trusted anymore_. She realised all at once that she was probably in danger of being arrested. Whether it might be for fraud, trespassing or prostitution was anyone's guess, but she couldn't put it past the Doctor to high-tail it out of New York and wash his hands of the whole situation, leaving her completely high and dry in yet another cell. He said he loved her and that he wouldn't hurt her, but a profound sense of amorality had washed over him recently. What _was_ he actually capable of?

But what was she to do - go back to the TARDIS and tell the Doctor she didn't trust him, and ask him nicely to take her home? So she had no choice but to follow the receptionist down the hall. She tried to forget about the Doctor for the moment, and simply resolved to complete the mission. She would try and sort it all out later. Hopefully with help.

The receptionist gestured wordlessly to the door labelled _Frederick Brandon,_ and Martha waited until the receptionist was out of sight before shedding her raincoat, and rapping on the door.

A very pale man of about fifty opened it. He was medium height and portly, with unnaturally black hair, and wore an ill-fitting navy blue suit.

"Hello, Mr. Brandon," she said with a sparkling smile.

"Hi there," said the American. "Call me Freddy."

"All right. Freddy."

He smirked slightly and looked at her a bit sideways as he took a step back and ushered her into his office. "Where's Jacinta?" He pronounced the name _ha-SEEN-ta._

"I'm sorry, she's come over a bit ill today. I was sent in her stead. I'm Vanessa," Martha improvised. Then she gave a slight curtsy, for some reason. "I hope that's all right."

He looked her over with droopy eyes. "Well, Vanessa, I think you'll do nicely." And he shut the door to his office. "I love your accent."

"Thank you," she said.

"A Londoner?"

"Yes," she assented.

"One of my favourite cities," he commented.

He moved round to the other side of his desk, opened a drawer and held out an envelope. Martha presumed it was filled with cash, so she took it, then tucked it into her belongings. She set her jacket and purse on a chair situated in the corner of the room near the door.

Brandon sat down in his large black leather desk chair and leaned back. "So, Vanessa. Did Jacinta tell you the… _procedure?_ "

"No," Martha answered. She saw an opportunity. She moved over to his side of the desk, then sat upon it, crossing her legs provocatively. "Why don't you tell me yourself, Freddy?"

At this moment, she became secretly both impressed and appalled at herself that she was playing this part so well.

He explained what he liked from Jacinta and his "usual" girls. Martha listened, hoping to God that she would be able to _vamp_ , as the Doctor had said, for as long as was needed. She had no idea how long this operation would take, and she was _not_ going to do to him what he had described.

While he spoke, Martha removed her right shoe, and placed her bare foot on the bit of chair between his legs. She moved her toe back and forth ever so slightly, inside of his leg, nearer to the knee than not. The movement was understated, but it was enough to make him lose his train of thought for a few seconds, and the man got an immediate erection. Again, Martha had to force down a little disgust. And a little panic.

What would happen if something went wrong and this guy didn't take _no_ for an answer? Ordinarily, in a situation like this, the Doctor would have eyes and ears everywhere, or at least, ironically, a _fail-safe_ should the mark become indignant and try to attack her. But then again, if the Doctor were in an _ordinary_ state, there would be no need for any of this rubbish.

She tried to shake herself back into the moment. Her toe and his description of his desires, and the resultant blood rushing away from his brain, served to distract him, while she manipulated the removed shoe. She detached the tip of the heel as she'd been instructed to do, and a small piece of metal came off in her hand, about a quarter of an inch wide, and not quite as long. It was a very tiny USB drive that carried a computer virus that no _human_ would be able to head off, trace or even notice within twenty-four hours. "So simple, it's almost comical," the Doctor had said.

"Well, Freddy," she said. "This might sound a bit bizarre, but I like to know a bit about my client before getting started, is that all right?"

"Um, I guess so," he said, a little surprised. "A couple of the girls have asked to chat first."

She hopped off the desk and pretended to be dazzled by her surroundings.

"So what is it you _do_ here, exactly?" she asked. "It's a very posh office, and… well, I'm no expert, but it looks like top of the line equipment." She ran her hand sensually up the face of the CPU tower, situated behind his monitor.

He explained his job in brief. He seemed to tell the truth, and the description was more or less exactly as the Doctor had put it.

"It's amazing that from _this little machine_ ," she sang, sliding her hand over the CPU again, with the USB lodged strategically between her fingers. "You can bring billionaires _to their knees._ "

With those words, she fired her gaze straight at his crotch, where his trousers were even more tented than before. Instinctively he followed her eyes, as she had known he would. (Martha had learned in her psychiatric rotation that people, in general, will follow another person's sudden pointed line-of-sight, unless they are a sociopath, which she didn't reckon this man was.) She used that very brief window to press the USB drive into a port.

From that moment, she began to listen for a rescuing _ping_ from her iPhone.

* * *

The TARDIS had been parked across the street from the office building where Frederick Brandon worked. Ever since Martha had walked out the door, he'd been trying to get the console computer to hack into the bank's system. It should be a simple matter – Time Lord computer, overpowering a standard Earth-based encryption system.

And yet after five minutes and six tries, it was failing. Yes, this bank had probably the finest firewalls that 2008 had to offer on this planet, but it should still _not_ be a match for his TARDIS.

The Doctor buried his hand in his hair, and cursed. He threw himself back into the navigator's seat and looked up at the Time Rotor.

"Oh my God," he muttered. "You're sabotaging me."

Since achieving his dramatic change-of-attitude, it had not occurred to him that after eight hundred years of travelling as kindred spirits through all of Time and Space, perhaps the TARDIS would not now do his bidding.

"You won't help me, will you?" he asked her out loud, already knowing the answer. He got to his feet and began to rant. "You bloody traitor! Save a planet, prevent a genocide, teach a civilisation in the outer reaches of the Bumfuck Galaxy's Wanderlust Wilderness to plant corn like every being above the Chimpanzee can do, sure. But help _me_ , your lifelong friend and protector, have a little freedom and happiness? Oh, no! Can't have that!"

He kicked one of the panels below the controls in anger, then dashed out the door. Hastily, he locked the door behind him, and as he was doing so, a taxi pulled up to the kerb. A caramel-skinned woman climbed out, wearing a short, strapless, knit dress with a peacock feather pattern. She was tall, pretty, and when she said _have a good day_ after paying the driver, he heard the distinctly soft consonants of a native Spanish-speaker.

His jaw dropped. She was familiar.

This was the _real_ escort, here to meet Frederick Brandon! He cursed himself – why hadn't he thought of this bit?

The taxi pulled away, and she began to eye the traffic, waiting for an opportunity to jaywalk across the street. He had to act fast. He aimed the sonic screwdriver discreetly at the traffic signal, to force the oncoming cars to stop, and give them an opening.

He grabbed her arm and began to jog. She went with him without protest, probably because she was taken off-guard, and was used to improvising when men tried to make her do strange things. Also, he was a good-looking man in a suit, who was taking her _toward_ her destination anyhow.

"Jacinta Slick?" he asked her as they jogged.

"Yes, have we met?" she asked.

"No, but I've seen your web page," he said. "I'm going to need to employ your services today."

"I'm headed to see a client just now, but I'll be finished in an hour, and you can contact…"

"No, I need you _now,_ " he insisted as they reached the sidewalk in front of the office building. He let go of her arm. "I will smooth things over with your agency, and with your client, and I will pay you handsomely. Enough to make it worth your while."

"How will _you_ smooth things over?" she asked, incredulous.

"I'll give you the money to turn over to the agency as though you earned it with the client – they don't even have to know you didn't see him. And with Mr. Brandon… well, trust me. If the bank President finds out…"

"No, no," she protested. "I like Freddy Brandon. Don't have him fired. Just tell him I'm sick. Pretend to be someone from the agency, and tell him I'm sick. I'll call him to reschedule."

"Okay, fair enough."

"Hey, how do you know I was on my way to see Freddy, anyhow?"

"No time to explain. Are you in or out?"

"Depends," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "How _handsomely_ are you planning on paying me?"

"How much do you charge per hour?" she asked.

"It varies based on the service rendered."

"What's the maximum you'd charge, for the, er, maximum service rendered?"

Cocking one back at him, she said, "Fifteen hundred per hour."

"I'll pay you three thousand dollars _per person_ , per hour," he said.

"How many people are involved?" she asked, calmly.

"I don't know yet," he said. "I'm asking you to just _roll with it,_ you know what that means?"

"Yes."

"I'll pay you under the table – you don't have to report it to your agency or to the IRS."

"Can you guarantee my safety?"

"Yes," he lied. "Do you have a mobile phone?"

"Of course."

"Give it to me. I'll program my number, so you can call if you have a problem."

"You won't be there?"

"Not as such," he said. "I'm needing you to distract some people."

She looked at him with tedium. "If I'm being gang-raped and gagged, I can't call you on my cell phone."

He sighed. "I very seriously doubt you will be gang-raped and gagged."

"Doubt?"

"The men involved are law-enforcement officers," he told her.

"Is that supposed to reassure me?"

"Security guards, not coppers! All wide-eyed and unbroken. And possibly a banker or two. Trust me, they'll be so green, and so stunned, they won't even know what hit them. Come on, you know how this goes!"

She looked at him suspiciously. "It's not a bachelor party or something?"

"No," he said. He pulled her into an alcove beside the bank's front door, and whispered, "I need access to some bank records, and there are people in there who will never let me at it. I'm going to need you to remove the obstacles."

"Three thousand dollars per obstacle?"

"Yes."

"Even if all I do is a hand-job? For that, I usually charge less."

"Even if all you do is smile at them," he told her. "But I have to be able to complete my mission, or I won't have the cash."

"You won't report me to my agency?"

"Not unless you report _me_."

"Who would I report you to?"

"Good point," he realised. Even if she did, who the hell could catch him?

* * *

The Doctor and Jacinta Slick walked into the bank lobby, and stepped into the lift. They went to the lower level, where, according to the blue prints the Doctor had downloaded before the TARDIS had shut him out, the main vaults were located, as well as a few offices of hands-on bank managers and whatnot. When the door opened on the lower level, directly in front of them, there were men's and ladies' rooms. On the right, there was a short hallway. The Doctor directed her toward the men's room.

"Remember, if you get arrested, I can't help you," he whispered.

She nodded with confidence, and disappeared behind the door.

The Doctor headed down the short hallway to the left turn, where immediately, there was a young, strapping guard waiting. He noticed yet another guard perhaps another fifty feet away.

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked, clearly surprised to see anyone there.

"I was hoping to speak to a bank manager," the Doctor said. "I represent the overseas law firm of Wallace and McQuaid, and my clients are thinking of opening a rather sizeable account here."

"Well, our bank managers don't really see people in-person about those things," the guard said. "Not without an appointment, anyway."

"My employers were very keen that I…" the Doctor began. "By the way, you should probably be aware, a very dodgy-looking character just went into the gentlemen's restroom there."

"What?"

"A woman, in fact," the Doctor said. "Probably a junkie. She looked a little addled."

"Oh, I guess I'd better…"

"Yeah, check it out," he said. "I'll show myself back up to the lobby. I'll let my employers know there will be a delay while I set up an appointment."

"Yeah, okay,"

The two of them returned to the lift/restroom area.

The Doctor pressed the button to summon the lift, while the guard knocked on the men's room door, calling out, "Ma'am?"

When there was no answer, he simply disappeared into the men's room, and the Doctor dashed back down the hall.

The second guard was on-alert. "What's going on?"

"You might want to help him out," said the Doctor. "It didn't look like a pretty situation."

The Doctor returned to the lift with the second guard, who pulled his Taser from his belt and disappeared into the men's room without announcing himself. He heard a short exclamation after the door was shut, but then nothing more.

The Doctor took the overall lack of noise as a good sign. It most likely meant that Jacinta had avoided violence, arrest, and was simply doing her job in a manner than meant that the security guards would probably never tell anyone what had happened.

He jogged down the hall again, turning the corner, this time to the right, past the point where the guards should have been patrolling. He walked past the vault on the left, and saw the doors to three offices open on the right.

The first office was occupied by a woman, and so he hurried along, hoping that she hadn't seen him out of the corner of her eye.

At the desk in the second office, there was a man. He was grey-haired, moustachioed, and wore a hideous beige sport coat. The Doctor entered the office.

"Hello," he said.

"Whoa," the man exclaimed, startled. "Who the hell are you? How did you get past the guards?"

"Well, funny story," the Doctor said. "I'm John Smith representing Wallace and McQuaid out of London, and I came down here hoping to speak to you about a twenty-million-pound account. But I shared a lift ride down with a very dodgy-looking woman, who stumbled into the men's room. Your guards are dealing with her now, although…"

The Doctor gave a wince, which suggested it would pain him to mention what he thought.

"Oh," said the man, whose nameplate read, _Thomas Mittwoch._ "Do you think I should…" He put his hand on the phone.

"No, no," the Doctor dismissed. "I'm sure it's nothing."

"I'd better…" said Mittwoch, pointing in the direction of the restrooms.

"Maybe… yeah," the Doctor said, cautiously. "But, you know… no need to alert the media just yet."

"I'd definitely like to speak with you about your account," said Mittwoch. "Would you mind waiting here?"

"Not at all."

Mittwoch logged out of his computer, stood up, buttoned his jacket and headed down the hall. The Doctor shut the door silently, sat down at the man's desk, and began to hack the bank's system from the inside.

He saw within a minute that the USB drive had already been inserted, that the virus had disseminated and that Brandon's team was now looking at completely frozen screens, and would do for the next ten minutes. There would be nothing to alert them of any funds being siphoned off. If they attempted to navigate their computers, they would simply think their screens had frozen. They would respond by restarting their own machine first, before calling IT. By the time it occurred to anyone that something larger was wrong, the virus would have let go, and everything would be back to normal… except there would be approximately two billion U.S. dollars missing.

He set about making an accounts transfer, which, from here, was a piece of piss, and took all of about ninety seconds.

He then picked up Mittwoch's phone, sonicked it so as not to identify the number or origin of the call, and dialled Martha's iPhone.

"It's done. Get out of there," he said to her, when she picked up. "I'll meet you where we said."

When he walked past the men's room again, he heard no noise. Just out of curiosity, he peeked inside and saw exactly what he had hoped. Jacinta would be expecting nine thousand dollars.

* * *

In the lobby, Martha stepped off the lift, looking a little harried.

"How long did you have to vamp?" he asked.

"Couple minutes," she said. "Got him talking about how powerful he is. He got so worked up and pleased with himself, I wondered if he would need me at all."

"How did you get out?"

"Well, interesting story, oh great genius that you are," she said saltily, as they crossed the bank lobby. "Freddy already knew Jacinta and knew immediately that I wasn't her."

"Oh. Sorry."

"So I told him she was sick, and they sent me instead. But when you called, I pretended it was the agency saying that Jacinta could come after all, that it was just a twenty-four hour bug or something… whatever. I told him it was agency policy that girls not 'pirate' each other's engagements, and that if I stayed with him and completed my job, that would be considered pirating. I apologised, returned his money, and left, just like you said."

"And he let you go?" the Doctor asked, taking Martha's hand and leading her in another jaywalk across the street to the TARDIS.

"Yeah," she said. "Though it did cross my mind that he might not… guess I got lucky."

"Speaking of things that cross one's mind.. or rather, didn't, I ran into the real Jacinta after you went inside." He unlocked the TARDIS and the two of them stepped in.

"Oh! How did that happen?"

"I had to go inside the bank right after you left because the TARDIS wouldn't help me hack the bank." He said this with bitterness in his voice, but he said it low, as though he didn't want the vessel to hear him.

"Where is she now?" Martha wondered, that old doubt flaring up. What would the rogue Doctor have done with a relatively disposable prostitute?

"She's in the men's room on the lower level, giving a blow job to a security guard," he answered matter-of-factly.

"What?"

"Well, actually, two security guards and a bank manager. Though, technically, when I peeked in, only one of them was actually getting…"

"Stop talking," she ordered.

He clammed up immediately.

"Back up a bit. What are you saying?" she asked.

"I knew I had just a short time to hack the bank from the inside, but to do it, I had to get rid of any _people_ in the way that might try to stop me. Jacinta happened to be there. I offered her an awful lot of money to keep the obstacles out of the way."

"So… you just _used_ her to siphon off a bunch of money from a bank? You got her to degrade herself so that…"

"Martha, it's what she does," he said. "And ordinarily she does it for _half_ of what I offered her."

"How much did you offer her?"

"For the three of them, nine thousand dollars. Plus, I promised her the money she'd be losing by not seeing Brandon."

"Well, let's go find her."

"Why?"

"Seriously? You're going to leave without paying her? The woman did her job, Doctor." Then Martha shuddered just a bit, thinking about it.

"Just seems like bad business returning to the scene of the crime."

" _Pay her_ ," she ordered him.

* * *

Martha found Jacinta in the bank lobby, and explained to her that she works with the man in the suit who had hired her to service the security guards. Then she told her that Mr. Brandon was waiting for her now, if she still felt like seeing him. Jacinta said she would see Brandon, and Martha explained that Brandon thought she had been sick, so asked her to play along. Martha promised to be there in the lobby in one hour when she was finished with Brandon – and she was as good as her word. This gave the Doctor just long enough to verify that two billion dollars had indeed been transferred to a Swiss account, to obtain a cashier's cheque for ten-thousand-five-hundred U.S. dollars, and return to New York to pay off Jacinta Slick for her help. In the end, Jacinta wound up an extra fifteen hundred dollars richer, because the Doctor had promised her the money she'd lost by not seeing Brandon, but then she'd seen Brandon and he'd paid her after all. When the Doctor and Martha left the bank, Jacinta was headed to the teller, presumably to deposit her cheque.

* * *

 **I'm sure you're having thoughts right now. Hey, why not let me know what they are? :-)**


	19. Chapter 19

**I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that people had a less-than-enthusiastic response to the last chapter! Who can blame you? Our heroes being bad and shagging in the dark is one thing, but being bad and stealing from others... and not because they want to give it to the poor? Hmm...**

 **Anyway, it's not quite over yet. A life of indulgence is what the Doctor and Martha are seeking just now, at least for the next few weeks while they explore their newfound freedom, and explore each other. Who hasn't wanted this? But it's coming at a price, and not just a monetary one.**

* * *

NINETEEN

After arranging the pick-up of a ridiculous amount of cash (U.S. dollars were always a good bet, as were euros and pounds) from a non-descript office building in Geneva, Switzerland, the Doctor flew them across the planet to the South Pacific. He had selected a resort in Tahiti known as Moana Saphir, and had reserved an opulent overwater bungalow for two weeks. For the second two weeks of their month-long indulgence, he had chosen a place in the Alps… he would tell Martha about it later.

They were taken by water gondola to the outermost bungalow, which, of course, had a shocking-blue ocean-view on all sides; the island of Tahiti, including the resort hotel, was behind the structure, about a mile. This gave the effect that the bungalow was out in mid-ocean, far from civilisation. It was equipped with three outdoor decks for sitting and admiring the vista, in one of which, there was a flat-screen television with a satellite feed, mounted to the wall. There was also a rectangular Jacuzzi for two on the edge of the deck, a stretchy net hammock for two that hung over the water off the other end of the deck, and a separate "island" deck that extended off the front via a narrow staircase.

A small parlour with a full bar was inside, including a second television, iPod dock and sound system, and a partially glass floor, specially lit to attract fish at night. There was a small, state-of-the-art kitchen, complete with an espresso machine, well-stocked wine chiller, fridge stocked with fresh local fruits, and an open teak breakfast bar that looked out over the ocean. The bathroom had a shower with dual shower heads, and a stand-alone bathtub with "seats," clearly made for two.

It was absolute heaven. Once they arrived on Wednesday morning, Martha switched off her phone, disregarding three more calls from Tish, and five text messages. A bellman of sorts brought their luggage to the bedroom for them, and when he left, they shut the bamboo doors and made good use of the king-sized bed. Later, they realised that the bedroom was also equipped with an electronically retractable roof, its own champagne storage unit, and a miniature fridge already supplied with strawberries and whipped cream. At seven, a gondola delivered a dinner of coconut crab, local greens and rices, plus a rich custard dessert. They ate on the middle deck, which had almost a living-room feel, and a coffee table.

After dark, the outside of the bungalow was lit up like Times Square, and they decided to order cocktails. They took the Hurricane glasses into the Jacuzzi with them, but when their soak turned erotic, they retired back to the bedroom and partook of the strawberries and whipped cream. The neighbouring bungalow was host to a German couple in their sixties who could see everything they did on the decks of their bungalow, and Martha and the Doctor weren't keen on scandalising anyone with _al fresco_ lovemaking. Though they would very much have liked to; the entire set-up was one big aphrodisiac.

Afterwards, they phoned the concierge and asked for another round of drinks, since the ones they began with were no longer cold. Delivery took about 45 minutes.

The following morning, a breakfast of croissants and Nutella was brought to them, along with espresso and some sliced mango. They sat on the island deck and allowed the server to set everything out for them.

Suddenly, the Doctor asked, "Do you happen to know when the couple in the bungalow next door are leaving?"

"I believe tonight is their last night, sir," said the server, whose nametag said Tunui.

"Is it booked after they leave?"

"Yes, I believe it is, sir."

The Doctor took a sip of espresso, and stared at the ocean for a few moments. Then he said, "I wonder what it would take to keep it empty."

"I'm sure I wouldn't know."

"Who would, then?"

"The resort's manager, perhaps," answered the nervous server. "Certainly the owner."

"Mm," the Doctor grunted.

"Will there be anything else?" asked Tunui.

"Is the owner on premises?"

"Yes. He lives in the Penthouse of the resort's hotel."

"How do I contact him?"

"I will ask my manager."

"When can I expect to hear back from you, or your manager?"

"Within the hour, sir."

"Thank you.

Tunui left hastily on his gondola and rowed back toward the resort.

* * *

A little more than an hour later, they were swimming in the clear water in front of the bungalow, and they heard a phone ring inside. The Doctor climbed out first, and took his time in moving toward the kitchen, where the phone hung on the wall. Martha followed him out.

"Hello?" he said, pressing the button for speakerphone. Martha extracted a bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge and settled in at the breakfast bar to listen.

"Hello," said a man on the phone, with the standard Polynesian accent they had heard since arriving on Tahiti. "This is Pierre Etini, the manager of Moana Saphir resort. I heard you had a question about the bungalow next to you."

"Yeah," said the Doctor. "Once the German couple leave, I'd like that bungalow to remain unoccupied for the duration of our visit. My companion and I are leaving in thirteen days' time."

"I'm sorry sir, that cannot be done."

"Excuse me?" the Doctor asked darkly.

"We have a business to run, as I'm sure you understand," said Mr. Etini. "That bungalow has been booked as of tomorrow night for a four-day stay, by another couple."

"Then you'll ring them up and tell them not to come," the Doctor said to him, in a tone that suggested he couldn't believe how bloody thick the man was. "That couple, and of course, anyone else booked for that bungalow in the next thirteen days. Or, just move them into the hotel."

"Sir, that would represent a major loss of revenue to the resort, not to mention…"

"Yeah, I get it, it's a PR nightmare," the Doctor interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Humans! Why do you all care so much what everyone else thinks, eh?"

There was a pause on the phone. "Pardon?" asked Etini.

"Look, I will reimburse you for the loss of revenue, all right?"

"That's not the point, sir," Etini argued. He was becoming agitated.

"Well then, make it the point," the Doctor said, with razor blades in his voice. "You will _do this_ for us, or you only _think_ you'll have a PR nightmare by cancelling tomorrow night's guests. I will give you nightmares you haven't even thought of."

Etini was quiet for a few moments, and then he said, "I'll have to speak with the owner."

"Yeah, you do that," the Doctor spat, then he cut off the call. When he turned to Martha, he found she was frowning. "What's with you?"

"Erm… what sort of nightmares?" she asked.

"I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Well…"

"It doesn't. Because they're going to do it."

"Okay, but…"

She became distracted by his roving eyes. She was sipping her Pellegrino, wearing a red bikini, and the Doctor was acting as though he had _just_ noticed.

"… what are we going to do with an empty bungalow?" she asked, after swallowing hard.

"Think about it," he said, silkily. "We can't even see the bungalow on the other side of them. Which means that they can't see us."

"Oh. I get it."

He walked toward her and placed one hand on each thigh. She was sitting on a stool that raised her to eye-level with him. He pulled her forward and kissed her, taking her off-balance, and making her yelp, then laugh. She wrapped her legs around him and kissed right back.

When he pulled away, he said, "We can christen every surface of this thing, especially the decks. We can have that shag we missed last night in the Jacuzzi. And I have a particular thing in mind for the island deck. And the hammock…"

"Okay, okay," she chuckled. "Wow, you've thought this through."

He smiled. "I told you. When I look at you, all I can think of is everything that feels good, and the taking of it. And I don't want to hold back for the sake of some middle-aged Teutonic puritan and his wife."

"Why do you care?" she wondered. "You just asked why humans are so concerned with what others think…"

"People pissed off at a resort because they've had their reservation changed is one thing," he said. He lowered his voice to a rumble. "People watching us make love is a whole different game."

"I see."

"Remember? Just us?" he asked, licking behind her ear, referring to the promises they'd panted at one another at three in the morning, just after their first night together. "Never letting anyone in. Our secrets… our passion…"

The sensation and the memory took Martha by storm, and she began to feel yet another fire gathering inside. "I remember, but only vaguely. I might need a refresher." Her voice was strained as his tongue found the perfect spot on her neck, and his hands found her bum.

He lifted her, turned toward the short space on the wall between the kitchen and parlour, and they re-affirmed their early-morning, dark, breathless, fuck. The hard surface, the novelty, the urgency were all there… only the darkness was absent. Though, there was a different kind of darkness in the air today.

* * *

Not long after they'd finished, they were again immersed in the water in front of the bungalow, this time having a good snog, when the phone rang for the second time. The Doctor chuckled. "That must be the owner."

A man with a French accent spoke through the kitchen speakerphone this time. "Hello, my name is Marc Beaudine, I am owner of the resort."

"Good morning, Monsieur Beaudine," said the Doctor.

"I am calling to chat about your most interesting request."

"Right."

"Sir, I don't know whether you understand the enormity of what you are asking us to do."

"Oh, don't I?" asked the Doctor.

"Listen, you want us to cancel all of the reservations for bungalow number four, for the next thirteen days, yes?"

"Yes."

"Yes. We are not simply losing the revenue from the people who were scheduled to stay in that bungalow for the next two weeks, but also the potential revenue lost from the… fallout."

"Fallout."

"We may face legal fees from tomorrow night's guests, as cancelling on less than twenty-four hours' notice constitutes a breach of contract. We assume that each of the three couples receiving cancellations will tell their friends not to patronise our establishment. None of these people are local Tahitians, as you can imagine; all of them are Europeans, all of them wealthy. We must assume that this will affect our establishments in Mallorca and Greece as well. And if word of this gets out…"

"Monsieur Beaudine," said the Doctor. "I think there's been a misunderstanding."

"There has?"

"Mm. I am no longer _asking_. This is no longer a _request_. I am saying, you will do this for us, or there will be consequences."

Beaudine could be heard sighing on the other end. "Yes, I was told that you threatened our manager," he said. "See here, Mister…"

"Doctor."

"Doctor…what?"

"Just Doctor."

"Fine. Doctor. If we analyse the costs involved in your taking legal action, versus…"

"I'm not threatening legal action," the Doctor said.

" _Non?_ " asked Beaudine.

The Doctor took a deep breath. "Is there a Madame Beaudine? Maybe little Beaudines? You sound like an older man… are there Beaudine grandchildren?"

"Excuse me?"

"How are they, this fine day? Wouldn't it be a shame if something were to..."

"Doctor, what the hell are you doing?" Martha whispered.

He ignored her. "I wonder if there's an extremely attractive woman living somewhere in the resort, with oddly shiny jewellery for someone who is only, what, twenty-six? Maybe even more like twenty two? Especially for someone who doesn't work. What does she do, in exchange for those jewels, I wonder? Does your wife know what she does? Maybe I could ask her. That is, if they are all available for the talking-to."

"Doctor!" Martha hissed. "Stop it!"

"Are you threatening my family, Doctor?" asked the owner.

"Nah," the Doctor said roughly. "I'm just making small-talk."

"Listen," Martha interjected, getting between the Doctor and the speakerphone. "We're willing to pay any amount for this accommodation. Just name your price."

"No, no, no," the Doctor argued, moving Martha out of the way. "If we're going to go down this road, then we're going to need our own staff, as well. An empty bungalow next door, and our own private staff in the one next to that."

"Are you asking me to empty out another bungalow?"

"To ensure quick service," the Doctor said. "We want full service at our beck and call. Your people can think of it as a vacation. They get to stay in an overwater bungalow for free, they don't have to work the resort – just us. And they will be assured of the safety of all whom they hold dear."

"Doctor!" Martha shouted.

"Stay out of this," he ordered her, with steel in his eyes. "We will need a chef, a bartender, a personal shopper, a masseur and a masseuse, and a private gondola driver. We'll need turndown service at night, maid service three times daily, and on-call laundry service."

It sounded as though Beaudine had opened his mouth to speak, but only croaks were escaping. Eventually, he began to sputter. "This is outrageous! This cannot be done! _Mon Dieu, qui croyez-vous que vous soyez ? Ne savez-vous pas que vous partagez cette planète avec…_ _"_

"I know it can be done," the Doctor said calmly. "And I know you'll find a way to accomplish it. Because you're a man with a conscience, and you're thinking about what might happen to good people, if you don't."

"Doctor," said Beaudine. "I'm very sorry, but if you are going to make such demands, make such threats, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave our resort. It pains me to say so, but… if you would like to stay for the duration of your reservation, and avail yourself of the considerable services that we offer as a matter of course, that come included in the fee you have paid, then please do so. However, if you insist on behaving like a very large and comical arsehole, then I don't believe that Moana Saphir will be aggrieved to be rid of your presence."

The Doctor smirked. "I don't think you understand the information to which I have access, Monsieur Beaudine."

"Oh my God," Martha whined.

"I can find out the names of everyone in your family, before you can even make the call to you helicopter pilot. By the time you find the wherewithal to get them off the island, and/or out of Cap Ferrat or wherever they're hidden away from the real world, I'll know exactly where to find them and where they're headed. I'm just telling you. I'm also telling you that I can find out the names of your staff. I can find out their…"

"Doctor," Martha interrupted, loudly this time. "Stop it."

"I told you to stay out of this."

"Monsieur Beaudine," Martha said. "Would you give me and the good Doctor just a moment to confer?"

"But of course."

She grabbed the Doctor's hand and dragged him into the bedroom. "You need to stop this. Now."

"I thought we agreed…"

"We agreed that we both wanted a holiday. A bit of indulgence," she said. "Good food, some drinks, some nudity – it's a laugh."

"Yeah, well, you're down the rabbit hole with me, love."

"No, I'm not. We stole some money. We did not hurt anyone – not with violence. We _did not_ threaten anyone's family, for God's sake!"

His jaw hinged sideways a bit. "There's a new order, Dr. Jones, or didn't you know?"

She took a step back. "If you don't take back what you said to Beaudine, when his goons arrive to remove us, or arrest us, or whatever, that is the last you'll see of me. I will get a flight off the island, and I will disappear from your life. I _will not_ listen to you threaten a man's children and grandchildren, I will not be party to something he did under that threat, and I _certainly_ will not be part of whatever it is you have in mind for them."

"You're awfully confident. And strangely scrupulous, all of a sudden."

She shrugged. "Those are the terms."

He stared at her, waiting for a sign of weakness, of whimsy, of anything that suggested she might not be one hundred per cent serious. But he found nothing.

Eventually, he exhaled raggedly and walked around her. He returned to the kitchen.

"Beaudine?"

"Yes?"

"I, er… withdraw what I said before," he said. "But I hold true to my demands. Name your price, and we will pay it. We will do anything to achieve the holiday we both desire. Privacy and indulgence, preferably at our fingertips."

* * *

The following day, the German couple left, never having known that their presence and departure had caused such a stir. Shortly thereafter, an American millionaire and his mistress vacated the bungalow on the other side of them, after having threatened to sue, then having been quieted by a double reimbursement of their total resort fees, and a voucher to return for another five-day stay and two free rounds of golf on the island.

When they left, Marc Beaudine himself came by gondola to meet the lunatic who had made potentially terrifying threats, then eventually paid millions to achieve the perfect holiday for himself and his companion. He introduced their personal staff. There were two of every position the Doctor had demanded, so that the Doctor and Martha could have full services twenty-four hours a day.

"If you want a Mai-Tai, and your pillowcases laundered at two o'clock in the morning," said Beaudine. "No problem."

"Thank you," Martha said.

"So… are we good?" asked Beaudine. It sounded strange, coming from him, such a colloquial English expression from a Frenchman in a business suit.

"We're good," the Doctor agreed.

"We're good," Martha said. "And he's _sorry._ Since he won't say it himself, I'm saying it."

"It's all right," the owner said, with a nervous laugh. "People say all sorts of the things when they are frustrated."

Their private gondolier paddled the Doctor over to the staff's bungalow, at his request. The Time Lord used the sonic screwdriver to rig the speakerphone system to stay open on their end all the time. The staff could not turn off the speaker, nor cut off the connection, even by disconnecting the phone from the wall. This meant that the Doctor and Martha only had to pick up their phone and make a request, and someone was guaranteed to hear them.

While he was gone, Martha lay on the hammock and stared at the electric blue sky. There was no doubt about it: something had changed in her.

But she didn't think it was simply her love for the Doctor and her desire to be with him that had caused the change. Could she _really_ love _anyone_ in the universe enough to alter her fundamental nature? To rid her of scruples when it came to robbing a bloody bank? To make her abandon being a "do-gooder," as he had called it, and spend a month in total indulgence, paid for with someone else's billions?

She was beginning to wonder if something had happened to her in that cell. When the Doctor had been nearly crushed by the Eustarus, she had reached out to hold his hand and commune with him, and be his anchor. She too had been surrounded by the oscillating field of energy, much of it the Doctor's regenerative energy, and she knew for a fact that an exchange had taken place. Part of the Doctor had been able to take refuge in her – who's to say that a part of her hadn't been swept up in the process in order for that to happen? If he could moor within her, couldn't she moor within him? There _had_ to be some part of her that had "gone bad" along with him.

But not completely. Because as she thought about it now, the idea of what they did at that bank in New York, made her feel ill. Not just the theft, the taking of what did not belong to them, but also the ruse they had used. They exploited a vulnerable woman and used her "talents," not to mention her need/desire for money, in order to distract the good guys. Martha herself had got all trussed up, and literally played the whore in order to distract yet another. The Doctor had put her and Jacinta Slick in the line of "fire," as it were, making both of them susceptible to arrest and/or sexual assault, with no viable escape route. Martha shuddered.

And yet, when it came to choosing to be in this bungalow with the Doctor, when he talked about indulgence, especially the sex… well, she hadn't hesitated. Until he'd begun making threats.

This gave her hope. Clearly _hurting_ someone was still not something she could abide. She didn't like the idea of Jacinta being a part of their plot, and couldn't stand the idea of Beaudine's family getting pulled in.

And yet, the Doctor paying stolen millions for a private staff and some extra space… meh. _Someone_ had to occupy these three bungalows. Might as well be them, right?

"Slipping," she sang to herself.

Really, what she meant was that she was _in danger of slipping_. Her scruples came and went. Sure, _now_ she didn't want to hurt anyone, but a few days ago, she wouldn't have wanted to rob a bank either.

So how long until her morality fell away completely, like the Doctor's? Could that happen to her?

Bells were ringing in her head just now. He was dangerous, and now she was alone with him. She felt relatively certain that she could count on being the one thing in the universe he would bend to protect, and she hoped that would hold out.

But… was _she_ dangerous now too?

She also calmed herself in knowing that this dangerous man was more or less confined to this bungalow with her, for at least the next couple of weeks… and then he'd mentioned having another getaway planned for them after that. He'd seen to it that they didn't have to go anywhere or do anything, or communicate with anyone except their staff. This meant… no damage. As long as he was _here_ , he wasn't stirring anything up.

Neither one of them, in fact could do any damage.

But what would they do at the end of this little idyll of theirs?

* * *

He was gone less than an hour. When he returned, he stood on the deck above her, and gazed down at her in the hammock.

"Well, we are fully alone, and fully indulged," he told her.

"Wonderful," she sighed.

In celebration, he shed the only garment he'd been wearing, which was a pair of swim trunks, and threw himself into the stretchy hammock with her. She giggled, feeling those scruples fall away again.

"Why are you still wearing this?" he wondered, and proceeded to untie her eggplant and charcoal-coloured floral bikini, and toss both the top and the bottom up on the deck.

When he pried her thighs apart with his knees and sank into her with a groan, she thought, _Oh, but as long as we're here, I'm going to bloody well enjoy it._

* * *

 **I bet you can guess what I'm going to say now.**

 **Please leave a review! Make my day! :-)**


	20. Chapter 20

**Okay, so I had a few of readers who were uncomfortable with the state of things! Is Martha being submissive? Of course she is. Is it out-of-character? Well, yeah. The whole idea is that something not-good is happening to her.**

 **(Now, the idea that canon Martha Jones in general was a submissive character... I would disagree with that. But yeah, she was kinda helplessly in love with the Doctor. So was her predecessor, I might point out!)**

 **Why would they want to confine themselves to "total indulgence" on just one planet? Well, it's not forever. I guess I see it as the Doctor taking a vacation from himself, before getting out on the road again and tearin' some s**t up. It might also be a test, or set up as a kind of indoctrination camp, for Martha - though the narrative won't really reflect that. It's just a thought. And though he may be a man of the universe, he can't help but be enamored of all that the Earth has to offer. And Tahiti? Come on!**

 **Anyway, hopefully this chapter and the next will both augment and quell your fears. Things are changing fast!**

* * *

TWENTY

Their arrangement worked like a charm. Beaudine had demanded a very high salary for each of their private staff members, which ensured that those men and women were happy to oblige the whims of the unknown, somewhat volatile man and his companion. And, neither the Doctor nor Martha saw any reason to be rude either in-person or over the open comm system, so they maintained a relatively good relationship with their staff. They had whatever cocktail they wanted whenever they wanted, and with both a shopper and a chef, they had whatever they wanted to eat. They had whatever they wanted on TV, and they had privacy whenever they wanted. After a day or two, the staff seemed to understand the rhythm of their lives, and learned to give them space and time (ironically) to be with each other, and scheduled their work around them.

The travellers found, however, that they could not stand perfectly still for the entire two weeks. So they came and went a bit – the gondolier conducted them to the shore, and then gave them directions to whatever amenities the resort and island had to offer. Martha marvelled that she'd gone to university in Scotland for four years, but she was finally learning to golf in Tahiti. They also tried one of those cliff-side seafood restaurants, like the Doctor had mentioned back on the night of La Cerise Noire. They tried parasailing as well, and bought their own equipment for snorkeling, which they did in the vicinity of their bungalow.

At the end of the two weeks, they went on a similar jaunt to a multi-cottage resort in the Austrian Alps. They, of course, chose the Luxus Haus, the largest and most luxurious in the resort. Three stories, and two sides had windows all the way up to the ceiling, with extraordinary mountain vistas. In the winter, it was a ski-in/ski-out facility. In the summer, there was simply lots of space around the house for picnicking, or as the case may be, making love in a meadow under a blanket.

In the course of that two weeks, from the Doctor's various musings, Martha was able to gather that his plan, once their month of indulgence was over, was very much like what she had assumed all those weeks ago, after their spectacular hotel night. Fortis, Mace and the Brigadier would be their unwitting operatives on the inside, and over time, the Doctor would manoeuver one of them into a position of power within the organisation.

"Probably Mace, given that Fortis is perhaps compromised now," he had said one night, looking at her rather sideways. "Though having that familial connection would have been handy. Actually, now I think of it, it might not be impossible to get him back, if we play our cards exactly right."

She gulped, and in that moment, felt shame and remorse for her clandestine meeting with Tish and Larry over at Leo's flat.

"I suppose we'll have to start by sorting out whatever's keeping the Brigadier tied up in Peru," he said. "As long as he's alive, no-one will ever hold the sway that he does."

"You're not thinking of… I mean, the Brigadier…"

"I don't want him dead," the Doctor said evenly. "In fact, if I had my way, he'd live much, much longer than he's likely going to. After helping out with his Peru thing, it would be frighteningly easy to get him on board with us, and then keep him there. But as it is, we'll have to get him on board with us, and with Mace. And get Mace on board. So when the Brigadier does pass away, there will be a very clear heir apparent."

"Having worked on the inside, I don't think it will be difficult," Martha said. "Mace is well-respected."

"Respect. Respect is easy. He has rank and an impeccable record. Well, nearly impeccable. What I'm talking about is going to take some cultivation," said the Doctor. "Because we're not actually talking about a throne or a position. We're talking about _influence_. We have to create the Culture of Mace, a _mentality_ amongst UNIT operatives that his word is gospel. People ignore their superiors all the time, but someone who is seen as wise, someone who is to be trusted in the face of any and all conflict… that's a different sort of thing, Martha."

"How do we make Colonel Mace into someone that no-one ignores?"

"We start in Peru," he answered. "And bring the Brig back to Britain."

And it seemed to Martha that this was the proper answer to the question.

His musings continued, and one day he commented on how wrong-headed he had initially been about saving the Earth being beneath him.

"Oh yes?" asked Martha.

"Of course," he told her. "I'm going to need the Earth. It's the only planet malleable enough to give me what I need. Perhaps that's because I've put in my time with it. Who knew that saving it from Daleks four thousand times would turn out to be a good thing?"

He went on to rant on how UNIT was generally fairly idiotic, in spite of its primary objective, on the topic of human-alien relations. He spat about the primitive minds of humans (present company excepted) and their kneejerk responses to whatever they didn't understand, how often their mentality dictated that they destroy anything that represented _other_ , whether it's a threat or not. But with him puppeteering Mace, that could all change.

He talked about putting Mace beside and inside the great global powers, starting with Great Britain.

"If he could have the ear of the Prime Minister, then he could have the ear of the U.S. and French Presidents, the German Chancellor, almost any country with any clout. Plus, UNIT also has offices in New York, Rio and Tokyo. We'd probably need someone inside each one of those locales to get into Mace's pocket. From there, they could reach out on all sides and cover most of the Earth… and when the time comes to ally UNIT with the Shadow Proclamation, by then, it would be basically an alliance between the Proclamation and the whole of planet Earth. If we're judicious and patient."

"Ally the Earth with the Shadow Proclamation?" Martha asked. "To what end?"

"The Shadow Proclamation has jurisdiction over most of the universe," said the Doctor, his voice low and conspiratorial. "To govern and police."

Martha pictured the "roots" of the Doctor taking hold of UNIT, then the Earth, then the Shadow Proclamation, then the universe. He could have their doctrines rewritten to his liking and control planets, peoples, entire galaxies. He could destroy societies at their foundation, just with bureaucracy, he could declare himself, or more likely those under his influence, as emperors or kings or supreme leaders, and jail anyone who contradicted him. He could do this, all the while maintaining the innocent, benevolent face of the Doctor, the saviour of galaxies, the scourge of evil, the last of the oh-so-wise Time Lords.

This was not to mention anything that he could rewrite and destroy just with time-travel, because he _could_ , and how _would._

The Time Lords were gone, but all the universe needed was _one_.

And no-one would really be the wiser.

Stars danced in her eyes when he spoke like this, and desire stirred within her…

* * *

Before they had arrived in Austria, they had been clever enough to negotiate their private staff in advance. This time, when the Doctor had made threats (he didn't seem able to stop himself), Martha hadn't stepped in. Apparently, the Doctor and his newfound "freedom from morality" had not bothered her just then.

The fact was, between Tahiti and Austria, her own feelings on this "freedom" had swung back and forth at least four or five times.

She had oscillated between being horrified at herself for her part in the robbery, and her enthusiasm for the control-hungry Doctor who had a plan for universal domination, and simply loving their new life. In those times, she figured that that money belonged to insider traders, evil oil tycoons and other rape-and-pillage types. Sometimes she thought that as long as the Doctor didn't hurt her, or anyone she cared about, she could go along with whatever he wanted. Other times, she was certain she'd have to "cure" him as soon as she had the chance.

She thought about turning her phone back on, and answering Tish's calls, reassuring her sister that she was all right. She was also, at times, content to let everyone think the Doctor had kidnapped and planned to keep her forever, because it was none of their damn business. Sometimes, the idea of being the companion to a rogue Time Lord really appealed to her, and in fact, inflamed her quite a lot. Other times, she knew she was just continuing to be his "anchor," using her fortunate position to prevent him doing any real damage until a permanent solution could be found.

Depending on her state of mind, she was wont to think of both mentalities as "lucid." Martha Jones, who had saved the Earth and worked for UNIT, finished medical school because she just wanted to help, she knew that the times when she squirmed within the clutches of the Freedom Doctor – that's where her heart and mind truly lay.

But when she slipped into the other mindset, that of a Martha who wanted to give herself to the Freedom Doctor, come what may, to the end of _his_ universe, just living for themselves and the power _–_ she thought _she_ was seeing the light. She felt she'd been bogged down for most of her life by rules and concerns for others, worrying about the world and its problems. She could see the Doctor's new point of view. Some beings are born superior, and if such a being should choose to take, after giving so much, well, that only made sense.

But toward the end of their Alpine jaunt, in a moment of panic over what she had become, she began to notice that examples of this frame of mind were growing precious and few. She wondered if it was her imagination, or whether, indeed, she was now more "bad" than "good," more Hyde than Jekyll. She didn't reckon it would be very wise to start logging her time in each state… she knew that when she swung to the darker side, she would likely flush the log down the loo. The doctor in her wanted to do a test, to quantify her condition and make a prognosis, but she couldn't think how to do it with her own full cooperation.

She remembered that early in their Tahitian holiday, it had occurred to her that she was "slipping," and that she had no idea how far the "bad" side of her would go. But it now seemed to her that the question had been little more than merely academic at that time, as compared to now, as it had become very, very real.

She also wondered whether the Doctor was experiencing the same inner dichotomy. She had been making the assumption that he was rogue all the time, but what if that was erroneous? Could she exploit that somehow?

And before she could stop herself, she asked him, "Do you ever have doubts?"

"About what?" he asked. They were sitting at the breakfast bar, enjoying an egg frittata that their chef had crafted. They were alone, and were now leafing through a book on the artwork of Gustav Klimt, together.

"Never mind," she said, realising the potential danger of what she'd said.

He looked up at her. "No, tell me. Doubts about what?"

She sighed. _Oh God._ "Do you ever have moments when the 'Old' Doctor is in charge?"

"You mean do I ever wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night and think _oh, God, what have I done_ and feeling like I want to give back the money, and abandon my plans with UNIT? Go back to knocking about like a vagabond in time and space, and showing backward planets how to _help themselves_?"

"I suppose."

"Nope," he said decisively. "I don't."

"Okay. But, would you tell me if you did?"

"Mm," he shrugged, thinking for a moment. "I think you'd probably know about it. Why?"

"Never mind. Just forget I asked."

He studied her. She continued to eat, feeling as though he was looking straight into her brain. She didn't have to answer the question – he knew why she was asking.

When she felt this way, she was dying to ask whether he'd noticed a hard-lined change in her, or whether, from his point of view, it had been gradual. She wanted to know what he thought happened to her – was his influence on her such that she had experienced a fundamental shift in her nature – if on a somewhat unreliable basis – or had the Eustarus done something to her, while she was caught with him in the field of gold dust. She desperately wondered if she would eventually become completely like him, given that her times in her "old" mindframe were truly becoming shorter.

But she couldn't. Because just now, she was desperate to do something proactive, to run screaming back to the side of "good," and the pull was stronger than it had ever been.

* * *

Upon returning to London on a Wednesday afternoon, six weeks to the day after meeting the Doctor for a chai tea, and deciding to have a dinner date, she rang Tish from a store phone.

"Oh my God," Tish breathed. She sounded as though she would have liked just to burst into tears. "Martha!"

"Hi," Martha said, a bit of apologetic, guilty acceptance in her voice.

"You're okay! I mean… you _are_ okay, right? Martha, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Martha sighed.

"I was so worried! I thought… I thought…"

"I know, I'm sorry. Things have been weird."

"Too weird for you to just answer a text?" Tish was practically shrieking.

"Well… yeah."

"What happened to you for a month? Where have you been? Have you been in town? Doing what? Martha…"

"Tish, I'm so sorry," Martha said. "I know I've made you worry like mad, and… wait, what's going on with Mum and Dad? Are they also on the Worry Train?"

"No, I've been telling them that I've spoken to you recently, you're just busy with work stuff, blah blah blah. But they're starting to get agitated that they can't get hold of you themselves."

"Thank you for covering for me, Tish," Martha said with sincere and total gratitude in her voice. The last thing she needed was her parents calling the police, or trying to use UNIT channels to find out about her, and the Doctor and…

"You owe me," Tish said, as a sister ought to. "Not just for covering for you, but for giving me great bleeding ulcers! I cannot even express to you what has been going through my mind!"

"I know, I've been… well, frankly, I've been self-indulgent, evasive, and amoral. And Tish, unfortunately, I can't promise that I won't do it again. I will explain everything, I swear to you. But I need to see Larry as soon as possible, before I change my mind."

"What do you mean _before you change your mind?_ "

"Again, I will explain. Can the two of you meet me in half an hour?"

"I can," said Tish. "I'll have to check with Larry, though. He's been working almost non-stop since you've been _persona non grata._ He's been trying to balance his normal work with trying to research that fail-safe thing. I hardly see him."

"You're still dating though?"

"Yeah, I think," said Tish. "He rings just about every day. Neither of us is dating anyone else. We did manage to go out for drinks last weekend and ended up spending the night together, so… you know. Silver lining."

Martha chuckled. "Okay, good. I'm really glad."

"Why don't you come round? I'll pull out some hors d'oeuvres like a good PR rep ought to, and some wine…"

"No," Martha insisted. "It's too obvious. The Doctor would definitely think to look for us there. God, I can't believe I just said that. Can't believe I have reason to say it."

"Yeah, me neither. Martha, I can't believe you're still playing this game. You can't go on like this. If he's dangerous, then you've got to make at least _some_ effort to lose him."

"It's not so simple, Tish."

"I thought you might say that."

"Can you two meet me at the Serpentine Bar and Kitchen? Thirty minutes?"

Tish sighed. "All right. I'll be there. Can't speak for Larry."

"Great. Thanks."

* * *

Martha went to the meeting place almost immediately, ordered a glass of something, and sat on the patio at a picnic table, staring at the water. It was twenty minutes before Tish and Larry suddenly appeared in front of her as if out of thin air, and sat down across from her.

"What was so important?" asked Larry, gently. "How's the Doctor?"

"Same as when last we spoke," Martha said, nervously. "I, on the other hand am struggling…"

Unexpectedly, she found herself awash in emotion, and hot tears came to her eyes.

"Oh, Martha," Tish said, taking her sister's hand. "I'm so sorry. I should have tried harder to keep you away from him."

"No, it's not what you think," Martha told her, tears spilling out now. "Larry, I think something happened to me, when the Eustarus was detonated."

"Excuse me?"

"You saw us in that cell. The mechanism sought to turn the Doctor inside-out via his regenerative energy, yeah? Well, I was surrounded, there at the end, by that same energy, and I think it turned me inside out as well!"

"You're saying you're… a rogue Time Lord?"

"No, but I've spent the last month with one, listening to his plans to dominate the whole bleeding universe. And I've not been, let's just say, sufficiently disturbed by it."

"Wait. You're on his side now?" Tish shrieked, causing people to look up from their meals.

"Yes," Martha confessed. "Most of the time." Then she broke down in sobs.

Tish came over to her side of the table and hugged her until she stopped.

"Martha," Tish whispered, as Martha's sobs turned to heavy, controlled breaths. "Tell us what's been happening to you. Where have you been for a month?"

"Okay, well…" Martha took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "The last time I saw you was at Leo's flat, and in the morning I went across the street and walked into the TARDIS, and I basically told the Doctor that we know he's gone rogue. His eyes went all dark and then he locked the door and told me…"

"What?"

Martha chuckled a little at the memory. "That he still loves me."

"You're joking."

"I know it sounds crazy, but…"

"No, it makes perfect sense," Larry interjected. "If you were going to be his anchor, the part of him that's involved with you would remain the same, but the Eustarus' mechanism, as you put it, would turn the rest of him to the other side!"

"Okay, so he loves you, and is also evil?" Tish said. "Fantastic. No drama. None, whatsoever."

"Anyway, he explained to me how he's changed, but his feelings for me are still the same, and then he… I'll say that he ran at me at full pelt. Do you get my meaning?"

"I think so."

"And he dared me to resist."

"And you didn't?" asked Tish.

"No," Martha said. "I had no desire to resist."

"Oh, Martha," Tish moaned.

"It's okay – I believe he would have stopped cold if I'd resisted at all. I think he was trying to make a point."

"The point being?"

"That he wouldn't hurt me… he wouldn't force himself on me because he actually does love me, but none of that matters, because I want it. Even more so now that he's a little... well, off-the-rails, is how he put it. And it was after that little encounter that I started to notice myself changing."

"Like once you became aware of the Doctor's state of mind, something within you was unlocked," Larry speculated aloud. "Words from the Doctor, almost like an incantation or a code that triggered a dormant drone response in you."

"I'm not a drone!" Martha exclaimed.

"Is it influential or experiential, then? Or maybe it's chemical," he continued. "A reaction caused by release of dopamine during orgasm could…"

"Okay, I see where you're going with this," Martha spoke over him. "I don't care what ultimately _revealed_ or _unlocked_ or _unleashed_ or whatever, the change in me. I'm just telling you, that's when it happened."

"Sorry," Larry said, feeling chastised.

"So then… oh God, I can't believe what I'm about to tell you," Martha whined, hiding her face. She went on to explain how she and the Doctor and an escort named Jacinta had triangulated their forces to rob a bank of a couple billion dollars.

Tish's jaw dropped so low, Martha wondered if it would fall off.

"Then what happened?" asked Larry, calmly. "What did you do with the money?"

"We went to Tahiti and spent two weeks in this overwater bungalow, with a private staff and all the gorgeous views, swimming, food, cocktails and shagging we could manage."

"Wow," Tish said. "That is not what I expected you to say."

"Then we did the same thing in this incredible house in the mountains of Austria," she said. "But the reason that it's important is, in Tahiti when the Doctor was trying to negotiate a private staff for us, the owner of the resort told us it couldn't be done. So he threatened him. He threatened the man's family. He threatened the families of the people who work for him."

"Oh. Wow."

"But I stopped him. I told him I would leave if he hurt anyone, and he backed down. He listened to me because… probably because he cares about me still."

"Oh, good."

"And we were able to work out a deal with the owner that involved a simple shedload of money, rather than the menace of ugly death. But when we began negotiating in Austria, he tried the same sort of rubbish with the owner of _that_ place as well. And I sat there, and let him do it. I watched the colour drain from the owner's face, and watched his hands shake as he rang up the foreperson of housekeeping and began the process of making sure that his wife and kids were still breathing the following day," Martha recounted, her voice beginning to break again. "And I tell you Tish… it was _fun_. It was amusing to me, to see a man bow to our stupid whims, because he believed that everything that ever mattered to him could and would be taken away by us, if he didn't. The whole episode turned the Doctor into this insatiable fiend, and I loved that too. When we were finally alone that day, we didn't even make it to the sofa. We both got rug burns."

Tish covered her mouth, and her eyes were as wide as saucers, but she didn't say anything.

"Some sort of _devolution_ happened to me, whereby I cared about innocent lives four weeks ago, but two weeks ago… not so much."

"And today?" asked Larry

"At this moment, I fucking hate myself," Martha said, tears falling again. "But in an hour's time, I could be back in that place again, and I don't know how far I'll go. I'm slipping, Larry. That's why I'm here. I'm slipping." And she cried for another few minutes.

Tish held her again until she was ready to stop.

"That's why I said I had to meet you before I changed my mind," Martha explained, after she pulled herself under control again. "I wanted to talk to you about all this before I swung back into the Doctor's camp and quit caring whether the two of you lived or died."

"I'm glad we caught you on the upswing," Tish said, laying her head against Martha's shoulder.

"The funny thing is, when I'm on the _upswing_ , I feel horrible. It's easier to be a bad guy now."

"Yep. Doing the right thing takes more energy. That's the way it is," Larry agreed.

"I wanted to see you, Larry, because I wanted to let you know that the Eustarus… well, it may have got more complicated," Martha said. "Not only do you have to worry about duplicating it to change the Doctor back to the way he was, but you might now have to worry about me."

"Okay," he said, shrugging. "The whole thing is more or less beyond me anyhow. One more wrench in the system is hardly going to make things more difficult for me."

"And there's another reason," she told him. "I wanted to warn you."

"Of what?"

"The Doctor has talked to me about his plans, now we're back from our little narcissistic holiday. It involves manipulating Colonel Mace into taking over UNIT, basically, and then there's an insidious plan to more or less dominate the universe from there."

"Dominate the universe? Via Colonel Mace?" Larry asked flatly. It would have been funny if Martha had been in a different sort of mood.

"Yes, and he said that it had to be Colonel Mace because you, Larry, are compromised."

"Oh. Shit."

"Yeah," Martha agreed. "I mean, it's no surprise. He knows that the three of us met at Leo's, and he knows why. We realised that when we discovered that he'd been blocking Tish's calls to me."

"Right, but…"

"I don't know how far he'll take it," Martha said. "He probably has some inkling that you're working on reconstructing the Eustarus. He knows you're one of the good guys. He knows that if he tries to slither into the organisation in the way he's planning, that you'll try to stop him. And worse, he knows that I'm not on his side one hundred per cent of the time."

"How does he know that?" Tish wondered.

"I kind of told him," Martha answered. "In a moment of… panic, I guess. I unintentionally gave him that information without actually saying the words."

"Great," said Larry. "So as soon as he's got his hooks into UNIT, into Colonel Mace, I could lose my job. Again!"

"If you're lucky!" Tish cried out. "Martha's talking about you maybe losing your life! Aren't you?"

"I can't rule it out," Martha admitted, sadly. "Not at this stage. And as I said, Larry, I'm slipping. I've been spending a lot more time on the Doctor's side than not, and someday soon, I might not come back… I just don't know. And in Tahiti, he didn't hurt anyone because I wouldn't let him, but in Austria, I didn't try to stand in his way. Still no-one was hurt, but only because he terrified the pants off someone."

"So you're telling me that you can't promise not to sanction my death," he said to her, harshly.

She nodded. "I'm sorry. As things stand at this moment, he wouldn't hurt you if I told him not to. But…"

"Yeah, I get it," Larry said, standing up. "In an hour, you'll turn on me."

"Or, I might not! I wish I knew! Just be glad I'm sane for the moment and felt you deserved to know."

He paced to one end of the patio, then came back. "What am I supposed to do with this, Martha?"

"I have no idea, Larry."

"Larry, calm down, it's not her fault," Tish said.

"It's not her fault, it's not the Doctor's fault, it's no one's fault!" Larry mocked. "Again… what am I supposed to do with that? How does _any_ of that rubbish help me? In an hour I could have a fucking Time Lord out for my head. How do you suggest I even _begin_ to try and dodge him? What kinds of firewalls do you think can stop him, once he sets his mind on my life? He got into the Tower once, are we _really_ saying he couldn't find a way to do it again? And what about you, Tish? If Martha would allow him to get rid of me, then it's only a matter of time before she starts to reject her family… see you all as a threat, as something that will keep her down, keep her from realising her full potential at the side of the most powerful man in the universe."

Martha looked at Tish sadly. "It's true. I'm sorry."

Tish was just as sad, but steadily she faced her sister. "The most powerful man in the universe has become the _darkest_ man in the universe. You know what you have to do, don't you?"

"Yes," Martha conceded. But not for the reasons Tish believed. "I'm going to need to borrow your mobile phone. And I apologise in advance for the bill."


	21. Chapter 21

**I think you'll enjoy this chapter. There's some feels, there's some blasts from the past and some big, big questions. But most importantly, Martha finds her teeth!**

* * *

TWENTY-ONE

Back in Tahiti, when the Doctor had got scary for a little while, Martha had threatened to leave, to disappear from his life, and to go where he couldn't find her. At the time, she hadn't given it much thought because she reckoned she wouldn't actually have to do it. She now contemplated how bloody impossible that might actually prove. The man has a surprisingly compact time-machine-cum-spaceship, and probably her energy signature all over the inside of it. The TARDIS could help him find her, no matter where she went on Earth. Because, well, without him, she couldn't leave the planet… and suddenly the world she lived in seemed frighteningly small.

But at that time, staring him down in that overwater bungalow, she had had confidence – she never doubted it could be done. She envied a state of mind that didn't require thinking things through.

As for today, she did have the beginnings of a plan, but still needed to channel that confidence, as she walked back to her flat from the Tube station from the Serpentine.

She went to her flat and dug through a desk drawer, and found a sheet of paper with the Brigadier's private number jotted upon it. She programmed it into Tish's mobile phone, and then walked down to the end of the block to the pretentious tea shop where she and the Doctor had met six weeks ago when all of this began.

She ordered an Oolong, then sat down in the far corner to make the call. Uselessly, she thought, it's been now almost a whole day since her _goodwill_ side has been in the driver's seat; how long before her darker side slipped back in? Couldn't be long now. She may very well not have enough time to do what she needed to do…

"Martha Jones," said the Brigadier. "Haven't heard from you in quite some time. Are you well?"

"Not really," she answered, her voice cracking. She was embarrassed – the storied Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart might be about to hear her cry.

"I was told about the debacle with the Eustarus," he said. "I'm so very sorry you lost your job over it. From what Colonel Mace's report says, it seemed like a complete misunderstanding."

"It was," she confirmed.

"The details on how exactly it all got _misunderstood_ were fuzzy, but..."

"That's because the Colonel doesn't know those details," she sighed. She gook a pause, then a deep breath. "Brigadier, as you must know, UNIT offered me the opportunity to take back my job, and I refused. Now… for various reasons, I wish I had."

"I hope that one of those reasons is not that you're afraid I won't talk to you."

"Well, yeah," she chuckled. "That is one, as a matter of fact."

"Nonsense, Dr. Jones," he said lightly. "I'd talk to you any day of the week, UNIT or no UNIT. What's on your mind?"

"Okay, here goes. This is going to sound mad but… do you know of a below-the-radar safe house I could use, if the need should ever arise?"

There was an uncomfortably pregnant pause before the Brigadier said, "Yes. Are you in trouble, Dr. Jones?"

"Somewhat," she said. "It's a long story. Suffice it to say, I may need a place to hide, where I cannot be found. Even by sophisticated tracking devices."

"There's a place… it's down here in South America. It's in Northern Brazil, literally underground, and one would need a trekker from the local indigenous village in order to guide one there. But once inside, it would be as hidden as we could make it. It's got food and water for five years, air filtration, plumbing, a small kitchen and living space, and an alcove for a bed, off to the side."

"Sounds all right. It's more than I really have any right to hope for."

"Dr. Jones, what on Earth is going on?"

"I can't tell you right now," she said. "And understand, there is a very good chance that I won't need to use it. But if I do…"

"You can count on it," he told her, though she could hear the consternation in his voice.

"What protections from detection does it have?"

"Essentially it's an anti-probe ring," he said. "Borrowed from the Feen-Cupther people. Well, the outer ring of Feen-Cupther, which is… actually, that's neither here nor there. Anyhow, we confiscated their ship when it crashed in Poland, and it totally confounded us, because we couldn't understand why it hadn't turned up on our radar when it entered our atmosphere. We soon got our answer. It was because of these rings."

"What about energy signature detection?" she asked.

"I would have no reason to believe that energy signature detection could penetrate it, though UNIT does not currently have the resources to do trials in that arena. Your friend the Doctor has seen to that." He chuckled at this revelation.

Martha's mind was racing. She knew that if things in the next hour or so did not go to plan, she might very well ask the Brigadier to let her use the facility, and she knew she might be in it for a very, very long time, given how long it might take for Larry to work out how to turn the Doctor inside-out again. She wondered about going back to her flat to pack a piece of luggage for the journey, but realised, once again, that time was of the essence: she couldn't afford those minutes. She could change her mind at any moment, and put herself back at the Doctor's side quite happily… making it all the harder to extricate herself later on.

Which brought her to another, disturbing question.

"How would it be assured that no-one could physically get into the bunker?" she asked.

"It's in such a remote place that it is not deemed accessible without a local guide," answered the Brigadier.

"What about someone getting _out_ of it?"

There was another long pause, and he said darkly, "Are you thinking of using it as containment for a third party, Dr. Jones?"

"No, it would be for me."

Evenly, he told her, "It would be nigh upon impossible to open from the inside, and even if one did escape from the pod, again, it's in such a remote locale, one would not be able to make it to civilization on one's own."

"So how does the person in the bunker get out, once the danger has passed?"

"The pod is in constant communication with UNIT. We would send someone for you."

"What if the person in the bunker requested to leave, even if the danger had not passed?"

"Do you mean, wanting to leave containment, even if the threat you are trying to avoid cannot not itself be contained?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Dr. Jones, once you enter the pod, UNIT is responsible for you, at least as far as said threat is concerned. A committee would have to decide to let you out early, should you request an early release; all of the legal concerns would have to be weighed… it would take a while, either way."

"Okay," she said. "And you'd be willing to throw UNIT resources at it, to protect me, if the need arose?"

"Without hesitation," he assured her. "But… are you sure you won't tell me what's happening? Understand, Dr. Jones, we will need to know what the threat is, in order to protect you from it."

"I understand," she said. "But I'm not willing to disclose just now."

"All right. This is highly irregular, but I will choose to trust you, simply because of who you are."

"Thank you," she sighed. "One last favour. Can you arrange to have me let into the Tower, in about, say, forty-five minutes?"

"I will let the guard at Traitor's Gate know, and he can conduct you through to the entrance to HQ."

"Fine," she said. "Thank you, sir. I promise that one way or another, I will tell you the whole story."

"I think you'd better," he replied, in a fatherly sort of way.

* * *

"Hi," the Doctor said rather brightly as Martha found him in his bedroom inside the TARDIS.

"Hello," she said with a flat, depressed voice, trudging up the short set of steps toward him. Her eyes were cast down to the floor, and she felt as though her arms weighed seven tonnes.

He was sitting upon the bed with his back to the headboard, reading what looked like a manual of some sort, written in Gallifreyan.

"Blimey," he said. "What's with _that_ tone?" He set his reading aside.

She stood at the side of the bed, sighed heavily, reckoning she might as well cut to the chase. "I've just been talking to Larry Fortis," she confessed.

"I know," he said. His eyes were suddenly dark, his jaw suddenly tight.

"You know."

"I was watching you from across the lake," he told her, his voice so low, it was almost unrecognisable. "You sat at a picnic table at that Serpentine restaurant, had a glass of white wine, and a chat with Larry and Tish."

"Then what?"

"Then Tish gave you her mobile phone and you all left the park."

She interpreted this as _and I didn't, or couldn't, follow you._

"Okay," she said, her heart racing. "So do you also know what we talked about?"

"I was using old-fashioned binoculars, so no. But I can guess." He got to his feet. They now stood across the bed from one another.

"First thing I need you to know, Doctor, is that… I love you. I have loved you almost since the moment we met, and whatever happens… I can't stop. Even if I wanted to stop, I can't. I love you, and there is no changing that."

"I love you too," he said cautiously.

She took a deep breath to steady herself. "Larry and Tish and I, we talked about how my loyalties are changing, and in fact, highly changeable," she told him. "We talked about how more than half the time, I am quite the little rogue myself. I _want_ to be at your side while you… do whatever it is you're going to do. Infiltrate control of the universe using UNIT channels, use the respect you've earned to pull the wool over everyone's eyes and… I don't know, maybe eradicate the planets you find personally useless. I will watch you do it and it might even thrill me, turn me into a paragon of lust to be the one at your side, and all that. You know the drill – you've seen my behaviour the last couple weeks."

"Yes, I have," he responded, with a naughty eyebrow-tilt.

"Didn't you wonder what the hell that was about? Why would I just, you know, help you rob a bank, and then stand there while you threatened to torture the family of an Austrian man who just wants to run an honest business?"

"I know what it's about," he said. "You were with me in that cell in the final crucial moments of the detonation of the Eustarus. You were in the field of gold dust, being all noble, anchoring me to you, and getting your insides messed-with must as much as mine. Not to mention, we were having a pretty cracking snog, and our consciousnesses were focused on each other."

"So some exchange took place?"

"Not an exchange," he said. "The Eustarus did what it was supposed to do to me… more or less. And so did you, because I came out of it honestly in love with you, even, perhaps, in spite of myself. You just got in the line of fire and had it hit you with the same stuff as it hit me with. Silly me, at the time when I forged the thing, it didn't occur to me that my anchor would be… well, someone like you."

"Someone you're shagging."

"My life just didn't roll that way, back then. So I didn't make a fail-safe for the fail-safe. Sue me."

"Why did it take days to kick in?"

He shrugged wearily. "For me, it was a gradual change over the next twenty-four hours, and it was terrifying at first, but I didn't say anything because I thought it might go away. Although, now I think of it, that's daft. Maybe there was some part of the old do-gooder Doctor that _wanted_ to go rogue, eh? Anyway, by the following day, I didn't _want_ it to go away because I realised the potential."

"What about me?"

"The thing hit you with a lower dose, if you will, and it was aimed at Time Lord anyhow. You don't have the same tangible energies to dig into – the regenerative energy – so the change for you has been subtler and less reliable. Though it sounds like you're evolving. I don't imagine our physical goings-on have hurt the process either."

"What, and it just took a hit from you and your oh-so-sinister sexual weaponry to bring it out of me?" she asked, remembering that early afternoon four weeks ago when he showed her that she wants him… even if he is now a very nasty piece of work.

"Maybe," he said with a smirk.

She sighed heavily again. "Well whatever. The point is… as you already know, there's a window of time every few days in which I am disgusted with myself," she continued. "I can't believe what I've done. What I could become. I am currently in one of those windows and I felt that Larry Fortis deserved to know that his life was in danger, and I might be the one to put it there."

The Doctor nodded. "Because he's researching how to re-create the Eustarus, so as to turn me back into _the man I once was_."

"Yes," she said.

"Is he getting close?"

"Of course not," she replied, almost with exasperation. "How many humans do you think it would actually take? To contain a black hole in a box, let alone 'program' it to latch onto your specific energy signature and in particular your regenerative energy, in which is contained all of your bad mojo? And then work out how to turn it inside out? We looked into it, Doctor. And as Tish pointed out at that time, all the goofy Time Lord stuff aside, it hasn't even occurred to _Stephen Hawking_ that something like hyper-gravity could be manipulated and contained in such a small proportion, and we're asking Larry Fortis to do it… all on his own. So, no. He's not close. But it's not stopping him from trying. He's done a month's worth of research, he's toiled night and day… but there is no reason that you should see him as a threat at this juncture."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, bracing for what was to come.

"But me, I'm a different story."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm asking you nicely. Re-create the Eustarus and become the Doctor again. The proper Doctor. The one I fell in love with, not the one that I love in spite of my better judgement."

He smiled. "Why would I do that?"

"Because if you don't, I'm going to leave, and you will never see me again."

"You can't do that. You _won't_ do that."

"I can and I will."

He kept the smile. He moved forward and knelt on the bed. "You said it yourself. You'll change your mind."

"I don't believe I will."

He moved forward on his knees. She could feel the seduction coming, could almost touch the heat radiating off him, now that he had decided to 'activate' it. If the last four weeks had taught her nothing else, it was how to tell when the Doctor got sex on the brain.

She tensed, and felt as though she were straining, exerting effort. She wasn't sure whether she should recoil, or stay put. Which would show more strength and resistance? So she was frozen, her opinions warring inside of her.

"You will," he lilted, and now he came to sit on the edge of the bed with his knees on either side of her. He lifted her shirt just slightly and softly kissed the flesh just beyond. "You'll change your mind in less than a day, Martha, and come running back because… well, you know the score."

"No."

"You know very well who will win this battle, and it's not Lawrence Bloody Fortis." His tongue teased at her navel.

"Doctor…"

He wrapped his hands possessively around her waist as he continued teasing at her skin with his lips. "And that excites you, no end."

"It does."

"Why bother going? You'll come back…"

"No. I won't be able to."

He planted three more soft, though increasingly wet kisses on her abdomen. "You won't be able to help yourself." He pulled the snap of her jeans loose and pried open the zip as well. He licked and kissed the v-shaped patch of flesh inside.

"Doctor..." she whispered.

"What?" he asked softly as he continued what he was doing. "Aren't you going to tell me to stop? That this ploy of mine will never work? How you can't be bought with kisses and nips and orgasms?"

She cursed inwardly. Her body was reacting precisely in the way he wanted it to, and knew it was. And for a horrifying few moments, she just stood there, growing moist, her knees and her resolve weakening. And she could feel him smile with his lips against her flesh.

"That's what I thought. That's what I know," he lulled, pushing the denim down over her hips. They came to rest just above her knees, and he went for the knickers next. "It's all right. Just come back in, love. Just…"

"Oh my God," she moaned as his tongue snaked in between her swollen folds, her head fell back and her hand dug into his hair. He licked her clit several times over, and she felt something all-to-familiar rising inside.

But she also felt something resisting.

She had the sense that _this_ was the final threshold. If she let this moment wash over her now, she would never be able to wriggle out from his grasp. Moreover, she would hate herself too much ever to face the outside world again, including her sister, Larry and the Brigadier, or UNIT's secret jungle bunker.

But how was she going to stop, now she was in this far? If he continued what he was doing, she had, at best, another minute before it was all over, and she was his again.

Then the Doctor made a mistake. Perhaps his first since the whole thing began.

He pulled away, looking at her, and said softly, "Step out of those jeans, and sit down in that chair. Let's do this properly."

This brought her round. She blinked several times, looked down at her jeans around her thighs, looked at the chair the Doctor had been referring to. She thought about the fact that she was wearing boots, and to get out of the trousers, she'd have to first sit down and unzip them, and how ungraceful the whole thing would undoubtedly be. It was lucid and rational and she would have to _think_ about what she was doing in order to accomplish it. To do that would mean that she was choosing the Doctor over her sanity, in these final, essential moments. If she did that, she would have no more excuses, and before she knew what was happening, she said, "No."

"Excuse me?" he asked, with genuine surprise.

She took a small step back so as not to tumble. "I said no," she told him calmly, and then bent, grabbing for her knickers, then her jeans. As she pulled them up and fastened herself back into them, she said, "I'm almost sorry, Doctor. But no. Not now."

He smiled silkily. "I don't believe you." He stood up and tried to face her down.

"Look, I made a promise to myself in that cell that I would stand by you, come what may, and I really, really want to. But now, I just have to protect myself. My sanity and my soul. And yours, if I can help it. So I'm saying no. And I'm leaving. You won't see me again until I hear from Larry Fortis that you've changed back, and not sooner." Much to her dismay, her voice shook with fear and emotion. But then, she reckoned, he knew her well enough to know that she was terrified just now anyway, and immeasurably sad.

He continued to smile and he moved forward and stroked her arms. "You know, it's kind of adorable that you think you can hide from me."

"I thought you might say something like that," she told him. "But I've taken the necessary precautions. I will not be found, and I won't be able to come back to you, even if I change my mind. Which I inevitably will, let's face it."

"And those precautions would be?"

"I'm a little addled, Doctor, but I'm not stupid." She disengaged her arms from his hold. She walked to the end of the room and back, while he watched. "Do you love me?"

"Yes."

"Really love me? Like, the way I love you? Like, with your whole body? Feel like you can't live without me, want to consume me, are on fire when you're not with me?"

He sighed, paused, seeming to measure his response. Then he confessed, "Yes."

"Do you want to hurt me?"

"No," he said.

"Good. Then these are the terms: if you don't team up with Larry Fortis and UNIT, and show them how to re-make the Eustarus so you can be _my Doctor_ again, and then fix me, so I'm not Rogue Martha anymore, then you will never see me again. And you need to believe me, because I am absolutely serious. I can do it. I can disappear and _stay_ disappeared, and even repress Rogue Martha when she comes back. I have resources, Doctor, and some native smarts of my own… none of this should come as a shock."

"You're bluffing."

"I am not," she assured him. "Anyway, are you willing to risk it? I know I couldn't bear it if you walked away from me forever… especially if it was in my power to stop you."

She gulped, realising only now that all of this might mean that _she would never see him again_ , and she would likely never really love again. And she felt another crushing wave of sadness.

He turned and kicked a rubbish bin hard enough that it startled her. He scowled, crossed his arms, then leaned against the wall. She could see the wheels turning, the Doctor weighing his options. Was Martha Jones really worth all this? Was love worth it, for a criminal mind such as his? _Was_ she bluffing? Was it worth it to find out?

If she left and hid, could he really track her down and force her back into the fold? Should he just detain her right now and keep her from leaving? He could just wait this thing out, until she came back around to his way of thinking. But when it came down to physically barring her, could he really do that to her? Could he learn to live with himself if he did? Would she continue to love him? Would the Rogue Martha feel the same way about him, if he forced her to do _anything_ , in any state? Either way, he reasoned, their idyll was over. No matter how one looked at it, unless Martha changed her mind right now, he had probably lost _this_ life, the way he knew and loved it.

But he could bypass all of this rubbish. Couldn't he just let her go, and find someone else?

"You're a clever bloke," she said. "Scary clever, in fact, and I mean that. But I know you, even in this state, and I can guess at some of the things that you're thinking. Sadly, I can't answer all of your questions."

He pulled his hand down over his face tightly and let out a growl. "I think I love you and hate you at the same time."

"You could choose to be alone, Doctor, but that's not your style," she said. "Or, we both know you could find someone else to travel with – you always do. But that person would never get to see and appreciate both the good in you, and the darkness in you. She would only ever see the dark, and that's because she wouldn't know you like I do. She would never know the complexity, the dynamics, the true potential of who and what you are. And this is because, frankly, you wouldn't love her the way you love me, and she would not have your protection the way I do. And consequently, she would never trust you. Not if she's got an ounce of cleverness, anyway."

He muttered something unintelligible, but Martha could tell he was listening. She fired up her courage and walked two steps forward.

"I know that you're aware of your own charms. You must have looked in the mirror on the first day of this regeneration and thought, 'oh, yeah, this will do.' And you have carefully developed and refined your repertoire – I know this because I've been hit by it at full-pelt. So, you could definitely find someone to share your bed, someone you upon whom you could work out all that angst. I mean, honestly, lots of women would sleep with you – you could have a different one every night if you wanted. But who else could lie there underneath you, look in those eyes, feel you inside, and _know?_ Truly know the storm within you that fuels it all? Know all you've seen and done and been through… and are capable of? Know the conflict behind your eyes, right this very moment? The short answer is: no-one. And isn't that all part of it? Wielding that power, the power of _I'm a Time Lord and I've lived hard, and my soul is damaged?_ Even if you never share it with me, I _know_ it's all in there, and yes, it's powerful. It makes me pliant and wet and weak and a little stupid, to be honest. And, forgive me, but isn't that part of who you are, even when you're good?"

He kicked the rubbish bin again, and began to pace.

"And don't you want that desperately? In spite of your state of mind, don't you _crave_ that connection? The history that makes _us_ so electric? You and I, Doctor… sometimes we just make eye contact, and it's like someone doused us in petrol then threw us a match. Isn't it all empty without that bit? Isn't _life itself_ empty without that? I think it is… which is why having this conversation hurts me so much. I'm in complete despair because I'm terrified that you won't choose me, and I'll never feel that again. And, by the way, none of this is even taking into account that not only do we have that history, that connection, that fire, but _we love each other._ That is rare and precious and not to be taken for granted, even by a rogue such as yourself. And for my part, once you're out of my life, I know from experience that I won't be able to love anyone else this much or this hard… ever. As for you… you think you could? In any reasonable amount of time? Well, I say, go ahead and try. Just try and cultivate all of that with someone else who's really worth your time. Especially now, with what you've become. If you think you can beat me at this game… try."

She was shaking like a leaf now, and she turned and walked toward the door. In his pace, the Doctor stopped short and watched her. He seemed shocked that she was actually going.

She turned, just as she stepped out into the corridor. "I do love you," she said, forcing herself not to linger too long on his expressive, amazing face.

Then she jogged toward the console room, round the controls, down the ramp and burst into tears when she got outside.

* * *

 **If you are reading, then review! Make my day! I know you're feeling something right now!**


	22. Chapter 22

**This is the penultimate chapter, my friends, and the CLIMAX of the story! I hope you find it grandiose and "believable," within the circumstances. Oh, that darn Doctor...**

 **I hope you both love it and hate it. :-D**

* * *

TWENTY-TWO

True to her word, Martha went straight for the Tower about forty-five minutes after talking to the Brigadier, and immediately after leaving the TARDIS. True to his word, the Brigadier had arranged for someone to meet her at Traitor's Gate and escort her inside. Martha wondered what sorts of protestations he had endured when he'd demanded that non-UNIT personnel be conducted through, no questions asked, but she chuckled thinking, _he's the Brigadier – he's got the final say._

The officer who walked with her, Agent Goines, informed her that Lethbridge-Stewart had assigned him the task of seeing to Martha's safe passage to the jungle pod in Brazil.

"We'll have a chopper ready to take you to a private UNIT craft at Heathrow, ready to leave in an hour, if you're ready," he told her.

She gulped. "All right. Thank you."

"I'll be with you every step of the way – the Brigadier insisted upon it. I'll fly with you to Brasília, and from there, I will contact the local guides. Some South American UNIT operatives and I will accompany you on the jungle trek as well."

This last bit actually made her feel calmer. "Good. I appreciate that."

Truthfully, of course, she hoped it wouldn't come to that. She hoped the Doctor would come round in time, and submit to helping to reconstruct the Eustarus, and then to a detonation. She still had not given up on a _happily ever after_ for the two of them.

The disturbing bit was, she had no idea how likely any of it was to happen. Ordinarily, she would assume that the Doctor caving-in was _very_ likely, but the Doctor was not himself, and nothing about his personality dynamics was reliable anymore. What was stronger, his love for his newfound freedom from obligation, or his love for her? Was there any vestige of the old Doctor left, or was he too far gone to care? Would he disregard her, the way many people disregard and/or give up the people they love, to best suit the circumstances? Or perhaps it wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility that his zeal for life and indulgence and passion could fuel a turnaround, if he felt that same zeal for her… or at least for their relationship. Which was somewhat twisted at this point, granted.

She couldn't count on anything, and that was terrifying.

But even more terrifying was spending months, even years, in a bubble in the middle of the jungle.

"I'm not quite ready to leave yet," she told Agent Goines. "This is a big step… I'm going to need some time."

"No problem," he said. "The Brigadier said I was to put myself at your beck and call, so just ring me on extension 614 if and when you need anything. I trust you know how to use the phone system?" he asked, with a little smirk.

"I do, thanks," she told him.

He left her alone in a large room with many tables and chairs, and an industrial coffee maker. She had partaken of gallons of black, bitter, caffeinated wake-up from that machine, as it was just a bit down the hall from her old exam room.

And in that vein, she became curious. She wondered if anyone had moved into that room, the one she'd occupied for her year with UNIT. She wandered down toward her old stomping grounds, and noticed that her name plate had been taken off the door. She opened it then, and took a peek.

It had been five weeks since she'd seen it, and so much had changed in her life, yet it felt like she had never left. Any personal effects that she had had in the room were now gone, but it certainly didn't seem like anyone new was using the space. She sat down on the stool beside the computer and just allowed herself to feel numb. She had no idea what to do next. If she wanted, she could disappear from view of the Doctor, or anyone possibly gunning for the Doctor. Forever, maybe. She could be safe, and have the guaranteed protection of UNIT…

But she would always wonder – did she move too soon? Was the Doctor somewhere across town, wringing his hands over losing her, ready to give in?

Come to that, did she walk away from him too soon? Had she been hasty? And what was she thinking, giving him an ultimatum? What right did she have to do that? The Doctor might be a great big question-mark right now, but seriously… what were the odds he'd just roll over and show Larry Fortis how to make a new Eustarus, and then submit to a detonation? And after all, she loved him… shouldn't she be with him during this time? It seemed that he was at a crossroads… and yes, it was _she_ who had put him at that crossroads… why had she done that?

Martha rested her elbows on the counter of her former work space, and buried her face in her hands.

Because really, why _should_ the Doctor just give over and do what the humans tell him? He's a Time Lord for God's sake. The Time Lords used to track and enforce all the laws of what made up the fabric of reality… and now, the Time Lords were gone – the Doctor was it. Who else had the authority to mess with the fabric of reality? Certainly not she, and certainly not Fortis.

She got to her feet and began to pace. She was not unconscious of the fact that her thinking was evolving again.

She had two choices: 1) ring Agent Goines right now and let him take her to that pod, so she couldn't get out, couldn't contact the Doctor and change her mind. This way, there would still be a shot at changing the Doctor back to the way he'd been, for the first nine-hundred-odd years of his life. Or, 2) see how the next few hours play out, ride the wave, and possibly fly out of here on the Doctor's arm.

Being behind the walls of UNIT gave her precious few options, though, and made it crucial that she watch her step, one way or the other. She was honestly torn just now…

And then something caught her eye. A dark movement outside the small window drifted to the right and disappeared.

She ran for the door and threw it open. "Larry!" she called out. "What are you doing back at work?"

He turned and faced her. "I don't exactly have time to dawdle about the Serpentine these days, thanks to your boyfriend." Then his face scrunched down, and he seemed exceedingly confused. It was as though he had just registered that _Martha Jones_ was inside UNIT. "Hold on… you're here now? Are you back? Wait… what?"

"The Brigadier arranged for me to go to a safe house," she told him, stepping out of the exam room. "I came here to rendezvous with my escort. I guess."

"Are you back with UNIT?" he repeated, the exasperation on his face actually reminding her a bit of the Doctor.

"No, but the Brig and I have a… friendship. Of sorts. He…"

But she was interrupted by what felt like an earthquake. Both of them grabbed onto the nearest wall for support.

"What the hell was that?" she asked after the tremor had more or less died down.

Larry looked contemplative. "So, a safe house. Did you by any chance talk to the Doctor before you came here?"

"Yes."

"Maybe, like, an ultimatum? Straighten up and fly right, or else Martha Jones goes to a safe house where the Doctor can't get her?"

"Sort of."

"And then you walked away from him?"

"Yes!"

"You tried to get the upper-hand on the cleverest, most volatile, and currently the most amoral man in the universe? By removing the _one_ actual _good_ thing he has in his life?"

"Larry, I'm not…"

"He was already lovesick. You've just made him desperate. What makes you think he will, in any way, play fairly now?"

She opened her mouth to respond, and nothing came out. She wanted to address Larry's question in a real way, but she also wanted to tell him that the Doctor was above "playing fair."

And that's when they felt the second tremor, only this one was stronger, and it took them both off their feet. They heard loud shouts from all over the inside of headquarters.

As they were getting to their feet, a man in a white coat came out of nowhere, and Martha recognised him as Dr. Enger. He worked in the giant lab along with Larry, but Martha seemed to remember that he specialised in astrophysics.

"A breach in the universe has opened up in the last five minutes," Enger reported to Larry.

"A breach in the universe?" asked Larry, incredulous. "Are you kidding? Are you sure?"

"We've got instruments, Dr. Fortis, and they don't lie. We are working on its point of origin or possible cause…"

"I know its cause," Martha said quietly.

"Pardon me?" asked Enger.

Larry asked him, "Are you headed up to street-level to see?"

"Yeah," Enger answered. A few more men and women in lab coats seemed to emerge from the same place Enger had come from, and they hurried by, sweeping Enger with them.

And Martha followed.

* * *

Crowds, Martha reckoned, had likely gathered, jaw agape, all over London. There were tourists everywhere inside the Tower, standing dead still, staring at a black and white swirling phenomenon that seemed to be hovering over the Thames. Little by little, the space filled with UNIT personnel, members of the Queen's Guard, and more tourists. And rightfully so, Martha conceded; what they were looking at was terrifying.

And somewhere in the distance, she heard the familiar sound of the TARDIS' gears. The vessel could not materialise inside the Tower, so what she was hearing was outside of the fortress' walls.

From the din around her, she heard the voice of Colonel Mace rise up, "He's here, men! Let's bring him in!" She watched about fifty uniformed officers in red berets disappear through a little-known exit from the Tower courtyard, with Mace at the head of the line.

Martha realised that Fortis must have alerted the higher-ups at UNIT sometime in the last hour or two, yet again, that the Doctor had gone rogue. Again, Martha was torn. It was a good idea; contain the Doctor, bring him in, force him to comply. But part of her was vehemently protesting this. If he was brought into UNIT, how would the two of them get out again?

About thirty seconds later, she heard a loud _whoosh/bang_ sound, then a familiar voice saying, over a tannoy, "I think you'll find that you won't be able to come within fifty feet of the TARDIS, gentlemen. Sorry I didn't give you a warning, but I think you'll also find that I don't do that sort of thing anymore."

"Doctor," Colonel Mace was saying through a megaphone. "We will give you one warning. Turn yourself and the TARDIS over to UNIT personnel, and no further action shall be taken against you."

"One warning, and no further action?" the Doctor's mocking voice said. " _Further_ action? What action has been taken? Well, what action that worked? And what action, exactly, do you think you can take to deter me? Chisel through my force field with a hammer and nails? Sic another Time Lord on me?"

"Doctor…" Colonel Mace began again, lamely.

Martha had already begun to make her way through the throng toward the exit that Mace and his squad had just used.

"I assume Larry Fortis is standing about somewhere, listening," the Doctor said. "I would like to direct his attention, and that of anyone from the UNIT physics department who is in audience, toward the giant, swirling breach in the very fabric of reality, currently hanging over your great city. This is a portal that leads directly into the Evaporated Tundra, on the other side of the universe. The white swirly stuff you're seeing is… well, condensation and the charred debris of ether and space. You see, the universe doesn't much like to be torn open this way. It's like a gaping wound."

She was walking through a narrow passage beside the only remaining Tudor buildings in London, on her way out to the pedestrian area where she knew the TARDIS to be parked. She heard footsteps behind her, and realised that Fortis was following her.

The Doctor's voice continued. "And that other swirling, dark silvery thing inside the breach? _That,_ Dr. Fortis, is a black hole. And _this_ is how you manipulate a black hole."

At that, they felt another tremor. Martha and Fortis were both thrown into the old, damp, stone walls on either side of them. They could hear the crowds inside and outside the Tower hollering in surprise. But it wasn't just because a quake had sent them scrambling for leverage. Something else had happened. Cries of, "Dear God, what the hell? How can anyone do that?" and the like, were resonating throughout the space.

When they found their footing, Martha and Fortis walked down a flight of stairs and walked through a door between the inner walls and the Beefeaters' quarters. They followed yet another passage into the green knoll that had once been a moat.

From there, they were able to look up into the sky and see what the gawkers had been talking about. The breach, the hole in the sky, had opened up further, and now took up most of the horizon to the south.

"Oh, shit!" exclaimed Fortis. "What did you do to him, Martha?"

"Fuck off, Fortis," she shouted, running for the Tower's main entrance, which would get them round a few more barriers and out onto the Thames promenade, from where the Doctor spoke.

The Doctor continued. "You see, while you lot sit there and toil away, trying to work out with mathematics and physics and your infantile brains, how to tame a black hole, I just clicked a few buttons on my trusty old machine here, and opened this thing up."

"What's going to happen with that breach Doctor?" asked Mace.

"Well, it's against my new policy as a super-villain to begin monologuing and let everyone know what I'm about to do. I've been in your shoes, Mace, and you'd be surprised how often I've been able to defeat the so-called _bad guy_ – a title which I find totally archaic and judgemental, by the way – because he starts boasting! Although, I can now see why they do it. The temptation is tremendous!"

Martha stumbled upon the scene just then, and grabbed the megaphone from Colonel Mace. "Then will you tell _me_?" she asked the Doctor from outside.

The Doctor appeared in the doorway of the TARDIS, looking harried and mightily pissed off.

"Don't you owe the truth at least to me, of all people?" she asked. She took a pause, set her eyes to sad, then declared, "If you're going to destroy me, and everyone and everything I've ever loved, apart from you, then I deserve to know how."

A quick _whoosh_ filled the air, and Martha knew that the force field had been undone. Apparently, so did Mace's squadron, because they began to advance. She held out her hand to stop them, and then thanked her lucky stars they'd been conditioned to obey her.

She walked toward the TARDIS and stood about fifteen feet away from the Doctor now.

Without breaking eye-contact, he aimed the sonic screwdriver over his shoulder at the console, and pressed the button. Her eyes were drawn back behind him, and Martha noticed that the console was trussed up with wires and ropes, things held in place unnaturally. The green, pulsating Time Rotor was almost invisible for all of the rubbish now tied up and wrapped over the column of light, and it seemed to Martha that the TARDIS must be suffocating. It had been working against him, refusing to help him wreak havoc. The sight of the TARDIS' forced compliance made Martha a little sick. No dichotomy just now – there was only disgust.

But she had only a moment to think about this, before a fourth quake seized the Earth, and everyone in the vicinity was knocked again off-balance. The Doctor clung to the jamb of the TARDIS' door, because this time, the tremor didn't completely stop. From this point on, the ground beneath their feet seemed to buzz with energy and instability. Everyone's eyes fixed on the breach. The sides of the hole in the universe were now invisible from this point on the planet, and the top of it stretched halfway over what sky London could see.

"Do you feel that?" he asked her, and only her. "That vibration, that quick, uncertain, back-and-forth of the ground you're standing upon? That's the feeling of a planet being sucked against the opening of a breach in the universe that's still just a bit too small to pull it in entirely. Picture trying to suck a peanut through a straw. And do you know what's sucking it through?"

"A black hole," she answered.

He gave her an eyebrow-flutter of assent. "At this stage, if that breach opens any more then…" he shrugged and gave her a despairing look as though he couldn't be held responsible for what happened next.

"Why?" she asked, coldly. She crossed her arms over her chest and her face went stony.

He smiled, and chuckled, "Interesting question. For one, _because I can_." He activated some kind of remote tannoy with the sonic, and said for everyone near the Tower, "Hear that, Larry Fortis and the wacky UNIT physics gang? Because _I can!_ And you can't! Time Lord… universe… astrophysics is in my guts, guys, don't you get that? Are you _seriously_ trying to get ahead of me on this?"

"Okay, okay, we get it," she sighed. "You're cleverer than Fortis and everyone else here, so you're playing with black holes just to be cheeky. Why else?"

He spoke only to Martha again, not through the tannoy. "Well, it will throw off the balance of this solar system and probably cause chaos for the other seven planets… storms, gravitational changes, drifting moons. It'll be sort of fascinating to watch, actually. What happens when one planet is removed from a balanced system? Well, blimey, never had occasion to actually see! Now I can!"

"Doctor!" she shouted. "Why are you _really_ doing this? What is it you want?"

He narrowed his eyes and set his jaw sideways. They searched each other sadly, desperately, fearfully for a few moments, and the Doctor asked, "Don't you know?"

She could feel herself tipping back in the direction of the "old" Martha. Dr. Jones who loved working with people and helping where she could…

This side of her was _not_ amused by anything that was happening.

She was speechless for about thirty seconds, then she said, "This can't all be about _me_."

"Why no, of course not, Dr. Jones. Not all of it," he said flatly, darkly. Then he used the tannoy again. "The bottom line is, I've been thinking about what I want and how I'm going to get it. Until today, I only wanted two things. Now one of them is gone. Without it, getting the other thing… well, it's not much fun. I still want it, but I'm finished playing stupid games. I'm really bloody tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking and manipulating and hatching plans to be insidiously evil. I'm just going to embrace who I am - isn't that what the twenty-first century loves to prattle on about? So here is the situation, Colonel Mace: I want the helm of UNIT."

"Excuse me?" shouted the Colonel from fifty yards away. He began to make his way toward the TARDIS.

"Give me control of London, New York, Rio and Tokyo. The whole of the Taskforce at my right hand, totally obedient and at my beck and call. And if not…"

"To what end, Doctor?" asked Mace as he arrived beside Martha.

"The end is not, in fact, your concern. Besides, I think you can work it out."

"Some kind of megalomaniacal control over the planet and then the solar system and from there, who knows?"

"In a nutshell," said the Doctor.

"The reign of the Doctor," Mace said, a tinge of sarcastic awe in his voice

The Doctor chuckled. "You make it sound so cheap."

"Well, the Unified Intelligence Taskforce does not negotiate with terrorists, Doctor," said Colonel Mace.

"You _do_ realise you're condemning your planet to being sucked in by a black hole? All of human history wiped out by hyper-gravity, all life on Earth… kaput."

"So, I'm supposed to just hand over the keys to the kingdom, am I?" asked Mace. "Then stand aside and watch you hold the universe hostage?"

"If you won't do it, then they will on Stegnar III. And their intergalactic reaches are more web-like than the likes of yours," the Doctor reasoned. "I just chose the Earth because… well, humans. The wave of the future. At least _some_ futures. That sort of depends upon how the next few minutes pan out, doesn't it?"

"Do what you must, Doctor," the Colonel said, his voice shaking a bit.

The Doctor frowned. "Have you lost your mind, Mace? Are you seriously prepared to sacrifice the planet, just to prevent me getting my hooks in?"

"I think that what the Colonel is trying to say is that, we would rather the planet go down all at once with its dignity intact, than fall slowly to a lonely maniac with a God complex," Martha said coldly.

And with these words, in spite of how they came out, she had hope. And this hope gave her the tip she needed to fall back on the side of the "old Martha." It was the first time she could remember being able to _will_ herself to feel one way or the other, since this whole thing began.

"Very well put, Dr. Jones," said Mace.

"Colonel Mace," the Doctor said, switching his attention to the stiff man in the green uniform. "I once sacrificed a planet to save others. I was a different sort of man then than I am now, but trust me…"

"I'm aware of your actions, Doctor. Fortunately, I won't have to live with my decision the way you had to live with yours."

"Are you speaking for the planet Earth?" the Doctor wondered, his voice rising to a mocking, shrill pitch. "You? Colonel Alan Mace of UNIT. Not elected to any position… just a military wonk in an underground facility. And you're going to make this decision for six _billion_ people."

"I don't see anyone else stepping up to make it," answered the Colonel.

The Doctor padded outside the TARDIS and paced. Then he stopped. "Mace, all I want is UNIT. Four cities on four continents. That's all. With orders issued to all personnel that there's a new Sheriff in town. It seems like a small price to pay for the lives of every human being in existence now."

"That's all you want today," Mace reasoned. "What will you want tomorrow and the day after that? This is precisely why we don't negotiate with terrorists."

"A terrorist doesn't give you a chance!" the Doctor shouted. "A terrorist would have kicked this football of a planet into that black hole and not thought twice! I am giving you the opportunity to live!"

"And I'm saying we'd rather die!" Mace shouted back. "Come to that, Doctor, what are you waiting for?"

"Nothing!" the Doctor screamed, ground quaking, thundering. A gust of wind came through and blew his hair back. "If you're going to be daft enough to defy me, then… nothing!"

More shouting. "If you're so bent on destroying this planet if you don't get your way, then why don't you just bloody do it? Eh? What's the problem?"

"There's no problem! I'm gonna do it!" the Doctor spat. His words were harsh, ripping. He turned and faced the TARDIS with the sonic screwdriver out in front of him. "With a flick of my finger, Colonel Mace!"

"Then why are we all still breathing? Just run off like a coward, materialise your vessel someplace else, and have done with the human race, for God's sake!"

"I will," the Doctor said. He turned again to face Mace, and panted. Martha could see the undoubtable conflict in his eyes. "I bloody will!"

"Then what's stopping you?" asked the Colonel.

The Doctor's eyes were wide as saucers, and he stood, staring at Mace, breathing hard, quaking as hard as the Earth.

At last, he turned to Martha and held out his hand. "Martha? Last chance. Escape."

She shook her head. "I don't want to be the last of my kind," she said. "Not even for the thrill."

He exhaled with exhaustion, and dropped his hand to his side. "You asked for their help, didn't you? Leaving me… this lot. UNIT were going to put you into deep cover weren't they?"

"Yes, assuming the planet is still turning later today."

"They really can take you from me, hide you from me forever."

"From what I've heard… yes, they can."

Mace turned to Dr. Fortis, who had been standing behind them, following the goings-on, and asked, "I've missed a hell of a lot of the story, haven't I?" He gestured to Martha with his head.

"Yeah, you really have," said Fortis.

"All right then," said the Doctor, resignedly. And he aimed the sonic screwdriver at the TARDIS console, pressing the button.

* * *

 ***psst* Review!**

 **Thanks! :-)**


	23. Chapter 23

**The startling and thrilling conclusion of "Fail Safe!" This one was fun to write... evil Ten is a hot. No wait, I mean A HOOT! ;-)**

 **I decided to insert the scene with the two of them sneaking around inside UNIT because, well, as I said, it was fun. But also because I wanted to illustrate what state of mind they are both in when they submit to detonation. They basically do it for each other, which is really what it's all about.**

 **Thank you for reading! You guys are the best!**

* * *

TWENTY-THREE

Oh, the things we tell ourselves when we're about to die.

In those last few moments, Martha even told herself that she was happy not to die in a "common" way, like cancer or a heart attack. Even if she was to die in precisely the same manner as every living thing currently on this planet, at least it would be a spectacular death, and she was right there in the fray.

And of course, she reminded herself, she spent the final minutes of Earth's existence, painful though they may have been, with the man she loved. He was in hyper-irrational destruction mode, and he was about to do something that he would come to regret with all of his might, she was sure. But she would die with the memory of his face, his walk, his intensity, those eyes with the fire behind them, and that taut, strung-out, pacing, powder-keg of a body that had given her so much grief and pleasure and more grief… and more pleasure.

Right up to the moment when he aimed the sonic screwdriver through the door of the console and hit the button, making everyone gasp and grab onto one another, she kept her eyes on him, and memorised everything she could. The last of the Time Lords, who was about to destroy himself, along with his second-"favourite" planet ever… which, actually, was something she hadn't seen coming…

And even past that moment, after his manipulation with the sonic had actually _closed_ the breach, she still stood motionless, stuck in her loop of thinking. Last moments… love… memories, kisses, wonder...

The Doctor stared at her with sadness in his eyes for a few moments.

Then, "All right, then. Now what?" he asked, with only a hint of bitterness in his voice.

This brought her round, and she chuckled with relief. "Now our world goes on turning."

Lawrence Fortis spoke then. "You didn't really want to destroy the Earth, did you?"

The Doctor looked at him with daggers in his eyes. "Don't bloody push it, Fortis."

Larry held up his hands in disarmed fashion, and backed away a few steps.

The Doctor turned and saw fifty men in crescent formation around Colonel Mace, with their weapons trained on the Time Lord and his TARDIS.

"You can tell your men to relax," said the Doctor. "I'll come quietly."

Martha held out her hand. He took it, and the two of them began walking toward the Tower, ignoring the armed soldiers around them, the onlookers, the UNIT personnel standing about in lab coats…

They just followed Mace's lead, and retreated through the main entrance.

"He's wrong, you know," the Doctor said, again, not without bitterness. "About me not wanting to destroy the Earth."

"Yeah?" she asked, a little afraid of what he might say next.

"Well, it's not like I'm hell-bent on it," he said. "But it's really not about the Earth, Martha."

"Then what's it about?"

He lowered his voice significantly. "It's… I don't really want to do anything without you. Destroying things, saving things… whatever. Without you it all feels empty."

"I'm so glad you see it that way," she asked, wrapping her free arm around his, for a few moments.

"Not to mention the fact that I can't destroy the planet if you're on it."

"Very, very glad of that."

"And, I can't fly away from this planet if you're in some jungle pod in Brazil…"

"You know about the pod?" she asked, surprised.

"Of course I know about the pod, Martha," he said. "It's been there a good fifteen years. The Brig thought he was so clever with that anti-probe technology, but that stuff only works on Category-C galactic probes and the TARDIS has… you know what? Never mind. Yeah. I know about the pod."

"So… why didn't you…"

"Just let you go, and then break into it later and drag you out, possibly against your will?"

"Yeah," she said, sheepishly.

"Do you really have to ask?"

"No."

"I might do that if it were literally _anyone else_ trying to get away from me. But I couldn't do it to you. Even though I'd really, really want to."

"That's something, I suppose."

"Yeah, damn it," he muttered. "It's something."

* * *

Gathered in a small conference room inside UNIT headquarters, seven humans and a Time Lord debriefed the past few weeks' events. The Doctor sat with Martha Jones, Lawrence Fortis, Colonel Mace, the astrophysicist Dr. Willam Enger, one other physicist, Dr. Samantha Palmer and two armed officers, Luna and Morgen, assigned to "escort" the Doctor within the confines of the facility. The mood was tense, as the story unfolded and all eyes hopped back and forth between the Doctor and Mace.

For his part, the Colonel seemed like his head was going to explode, with the revelation that this had all come about because the Doctor and Martha Jones had spent a spectacular night together in a hotel. Though, he was unsurprised, and oddly unbothered, under the circumstances, that UNIT would have to answer for a shedload of money missing from a New York bank (the Doctor was mum on the subject of how _he_ might help rectify it).

"Why?" asked Mace. "What could a Time Lord possibly want with a thing like money?"

They explained that they went on to Tahiti and to Austria, for a bit of "abandon," as the Doctor euphemistically put it. "You know, food and alcohol and all the things in life that make us feel good." This made Mace grab his temples, and look at the two of them again with disbelief.

Fortis stifled a giggle.

It was decided that the Doctor, Fortis, Enger and Palmer would go into the lab the following morning to re-create a version of the Eustarus that would turn the Doctor away from his roguish ways. The Doctor estimated that the process would take about forty-eight hours to complete, if they worked straight through. They drew up a schedule of four twelve-hour days, during which no-one currently in the room would leave headquarters. Sleeping arrangements were made, for their down-time. It was made quite clear by Colonel Mace (without eye-contact) that each member of the party would remain in _separate_ sleeping quarters.

* * *

On that first night, Martha, exhausted, pulled a UNIT-issue wool blanket over herself and lay down on the exam table in the room that used to be her work space. The thing was made for an adult male, so it was plenty long for her, and had one elevated end for her head. She climbed into a set of hospital scrubs and fell asleep within minutes. She felt truly calm, for the first time in over a month.

But sometime around midnight, she awoke with a start. The air conditioning switched itself off, and the ancient system tended to bang and clang when any changes occurred. She knew all at once where she was, what was happening, and she sat up with a start.

"Shit!" she spat, realising she was ensconced within UNIT, with the Doctor practically chained up, and this would not do.

She was back in her free-spirit state of mind, and circumstances now seemed rather dire.

She sat still on the exam table and began mentally pacing like a caged animal, going over and over the events in her mind. She was mightily glad that the Earth still turned, that the Doctor's love extended even farther than his thirst for power. But now that the Earth was safe, she reckoned it was time to re-awaken his thirst. And perhaps his hunger. Perhaps a bit of both before the light of day, before the wheels of the UNIT machine came back into motion, to let the Doctor work it all out in their favour.

She noticed the effects of the lack of air conditioning within only minutes of its stopping. She opened the door to the hallway, just to get some air moving, as she was beginning to feel, in this underground lair of Authority and Diligence, that she couldn't breathe. As she did so, she heard the voice of Agent Luna, the Doctor's night guard, say, "FYI, heading to the gents. Back in two minutes, tops."

"Copy that, Luna," an electronic voice said through the radio on his belt.

Ten seconds later, Martha heard the squeaky door of the men's room open and shut. She ran down the hall gracefully, leaping on her toes so as not to make any noise. She had known the Doctor's room would not be locked, because he was set up for the night in a locker room whose door had no lock nor latch. This was decided, since the Doctor had refused to turn over the sonic screwdriver to Colonel Mace, and they did not want him barricading himself inside the room with UNIT personnel unable to reach him.

She pushed open the door, and stepped inside stealthily. The Doctor was lying on a cot, face up, feet crossed, hands folded behind his head. His elbows formed two large triangles beside his ears, and like her, he was wearing blue hospital scrubs in lieu of pyjamas.

"Hi," he said, sounding surprised to see her, but not startled.

"Hello," she whispered.

As she stepped forward, he was able to see her face in the little light afforded by the emergency lamp in the corner.

"You're not supposed to be here," he teased.

"Neither are you, quite frankly."

"Ah, but that's different. I'm a rogue."

"Aren't you just?" she lilted, coming further forward. She smirked as she threw one leg over him. There was just enough room between his hips and the edge of the cot for her knees. She sat on his legs and smiled.

"Did Luna go to the loo?" he wondered.

"Yeah," she said. "They must not be _that_ serious about keeping you contained."

He shrugged. "I guess they reckon I can't get far once I'm in."

"So," she sang, sliding his scrub top upwards and leaning forward to kiss the warm flesh behind it. "I assume you have a plan."

"For what?"

"For getting us out of here," she said between kisses.

"I don't."

"You mean, _not yet._ "

"I mean, I don't. I don't have a plan. And I'm not _going_ to have one."

She sat up straight. "What?"

He took her hands. "I've run through every possible scenario in my mind, and the way I see it, I can either have the grandiose things that I want – domination of the universe or parts of it, my fingers in the pies of the Shadow Proclamation, which… oh, that would be amazing…"

"Or?"

"Or… I can have you. But not both. It just can't work."

"It can't?"

"No. I mean, it would be different if you could be trusted, but you can't. Your old sensibilities come out too often and derail everything."

"I'm evolving," she argued, whining a bit. "In another month, I'll be totally turned."

"No, you won't," he told her. "It doesn't work that way."

"How do you know?"

"Time Lord, remember? I built the damn thing, I know how it operates, Martha."

She crossed her arms over her chest in an angry sort of pout. "So it's my fault that you're letting them cut you off at the knees?"

"Of course it is," he said, matter-of-factly. "But I choose you anyway."

"You choose me, or you're _forced_ to choose me?"

"I could have expanded that breach without actually being anywhere near it," he said. "I could have got back in the TARDIS and, like Mace said, had done with the whole human race. From there, I had a plan-B, that didn't involve the Earth. But _you_ weren't willing to come with me just then, so it was either destroy the Earth with you on it, or I had to stand down. And with Mace and his minions standing by, it's not like I could stand around and wait for your opinions to change."

"Hmph," she responded.

He seemed thoughtful for a moment. "Every time I think about the Bonnie and Clyde life and how much fun it would be, I can't help but remember that every now and then, you come over all conscience-bound and start hating yourself. In that case, I'd have to force you to live the life with me, and I don't want to do that either. Not to you."

"Not to me."

"Not you."

"You're just going to lie down and take it?" she asked him, a little shrilly, with her hands on his chest.

He fluttered a naughty eyebrow at her. "Looks like. As long as it's _you_ asking… I can think of worse things."

"Doctor!" she cried out. "You can't just… give in because of _love_. You can have everything you want. _We_ can! You're the Doctor for God's sake!"

"No, we can't, Martha," he said. "Your niggling bit of humanity is holding us back. And that bit, along with UNIT, is going to bring us down. Especially now that we're in the belly of the beast, thank you very much, Dr. Jones. And if it's not today, then it'll be next week, or the week after."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I can't believe this."

He sighed, and attempted a lying-down shrug. "Everyone has their Achilles heel. For the Master it was the fact that he couldn't face death. For me… it's Martha Jones."

"I'd curse that stupid _anchor_ thing, but that would be counterproductive," she muttered.

"Trust me, Martha. I'd love to grab the universe by the throat and take my due from it," he said with gritted teeth. "I want to pull strings all over every galaxy, have my will, have my way, and have no-one be the wiser. And I could do it – it would be frighteningly easy. But things being what they are, the thought of doing any of that without you makes me feel utterly hollow. Why bother, then, you know?"

She pouted. "What am I going to do with a do-gooder Doctor again?"

He smirked. "I'm not going to stop being a Time Lord. I'm not going to stop being me."

"But…"

"All that ambition, all that power, will still be in me, and still be possible. I'll always be able to do those things if I choose… all the Eustarus will do is make me choose not to."

"Mm," she said.

He wrapped his hands around her thighs and bum and pulled her forward. She leaned down and planted her hands on the sides of the cot, looking straight down at him.

"All that stuff you were talking about yesterday when you left me," he whispered. "Being able to feel me inside you, and _know_. Know the fury, the storm behind my eyes, know where I've been, what I've seen, the things I've done and am capable of doing… none of that will change."

"You're right," she sighed. She let herself down and buried her mouth in his neck. She began to plant kisses behind his ear, down his neck, forward over his jaw as he spoke.

"A Time Lord is a Time Lord, Martha. It's only _choices_ that make one differ from the other. You want a powder-keg of potential? I've always had that. I'll always have it."

"Yes," she whispered, feeling him harden underneath her.

"These thoughts are what have been keeping me going," he said. "I can't think of it as a defeat. My Time Lord nature can't be defeated."

"Good," she said.

"And in you, I have someone staggeringly beautiful, clever, sophisticated, knowledgeable and, as it happens, very, very hot. Amazing how I want those things no matter what state of mind I'm in. And amazing how you can deliver them, no matter what state of mind you're in."

* * *

That first night, after their tryst, Martha put her scrubs back on and returned to the exam room. She greeted Agent Luna sprightly when she left, delighting in the astonished look on his face, and half expecting him to detain her. To her relief, he didn't.

On the second night, just after the air conditioning stopped, the Doctor arrived in the exam room, as Luna had again gone to the loo. A couple of hours later, he too padded back down the hall with a friendly hello as he approached Luna.

On the third night, the Doctor simply opened the locker room door and walked through it, with Luna standing right there.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked the Agent.

"You know where," the Time Lord responded with a sigh.

"You are not to leave your quarters," Luna argued. "You are to be under surveillance!"

Halfway down the hall, the Doctor stopped and turned around to look at him. "So, come guard _this_ door, then! Blimey, do I have to think of everything?"

And he kept walking.

Luna caught up with him. "Colonel Mace made it clear that none of you are permitted to share sleeping quarters!"

"In the first place," the Doctor said, stopping again, now just a few steps from Martha's door. "There's not a lot of sleeping going on when we're together anyway, so _technically_ , we're fine."

Luna opened his mouth to interrupt, and the Doctor cut him off.

"And in the second place… _come on_ , Luna, what are you afraid is going to happen? We'll have a shag and the Earth will implode?"

"Maybe! I don't know!"

By now, Martha had heard them talking, and she stuck her head out through the door, then stepped into the hall.

The Doctor continued, "We've done this the past two nights, and nothing horrible has happened, has it?"

"I…"

"You know very well that Colonel Mace just wants us apart because he either has an inappropriate crush on Dr. Jones, or he's got some kind of bizarre pseudo-paternal attachment to her… probably both. And he's a puritanical stuffed-shirt who exhibits a high degree of squeamishness when it comes to interpersonal relationships. And he might be a virgin."

"Doctor, stop it," Martha sighed.

"So, do we _really_ want to adhere to the Gospel of Mace? Especially where the matters of the flesh are concerned?" the Doctor asked Luna.

"I… I think…" Luna sputtered.

The Doctor moved toward Martha's exam room door. "Look, it's fine. Nothing has changed. I'll still be about in the morning to help Fortis and the gang figure out how to neuter me again. Only, I'll be in a much better mood about it, if you leave us the hell alone."

With that, he disappeared behind the door and locked it with the sonic screwdriver.

And when Martha came down the hall on the fourth night, she opened her mouth to speak to Luna, but he just said flatly, "Whatever. Go on in. Just try to keep the noise down, would you?"

* * *

The following noon was the scheduled detonation. Martha was escorted to the laboratory by an officer who didn't make eye-contact, and for all she knew, couldn't speak English. Fortis, Enger and Palmer were standing by with the Doctor, and Colonel Mace joined the party with Luna and Morgen a few moments later.

They used some alien-borrowed instruments (and a lot of big words) to measure a kind of energy output coming from the Doctor and Martha. Then, the Doctor showed his Companion to a corner of the lab where they had lined the floor with a square of breathable sponge-like material.

"This is for you, during the detonation process," Larry Fortis said. "Watching the Doctor go through it the first time was fairly awful, so I thought there should be some kind of padding, you know…"

The Doctor didn't say anything, but slapped him lightly on the back. He and Martha then lay down on the spongy surface, on their sides, holding hands.

"Ready?" he asked her.

"No," she croaked, her eyes filling with tears.

And the detonation was just about as awful as Martha had imagined it, though she had been briefed that it would be three times as hard on the Doctor. She never lost her ability to talk and think and cry, but as before, the Doctor went catatonic for a few minutes, and all the colour seemed to leave his face. She wasn't sure what was worse – the feeling of being crushed, or knowing that he was feeling it so much more.

But when it was over, they were still there, on the floor, with each other. Their "audience" waited expectantly for them to stand up and report that they felt like saving the universe again… but they didn't.

"Can you just leave us for a while?" the Doctor asked, getting to his feet, with help.

"Let us scan you, then we will do as you ask," Colonel Mace said.

Their energy output seemed to satisfy the Colonel, with a second opinion from Fortis, though they both agreed that at least a twelve-hour period of incubation was probably needed.

"Fine, whatever," the Doctor said, with almost no voice left. "Can we just…?"

At that point, Mace ordered everyone to stand aside and let the Doctor and Martha pass. They went from the room quietly, and shut themselves into the exam room where Martha had slept for four nights, and worked for a year before that. They fell into an exhausted, relieved hug as soon as they were inside, but about ten seconds later, there was a knock.

"What is it?" the Doctor asked, annoyed.

"It's me," Fortis' voice said. "I'm sorry… but I have something for you."

"What?" said the Doctor, throwing the door open.

Fortis stood there holding up one end of the big spongy square, and Dr. Enger held the other end. The Doctor and Martha stood aside, nonplussed, as the two physicists squeezed the thing into the room. They worked together to move the exam table aside, to make room on the floor. Then Fortis leaned out into the hall and produced two pillows, and threw them on the mat.

"They're from the hospital wing," he said. Then, he just shrugged, and said, "There you go. Just ring my extension when you're ready for room-service."

"Thanks," said the Doctor, shaking Larry's hand, and Dr. Enger's.

They had a wool blanket, and they had each other. And now, they had a place where they could just rest, side-by-side.

* * *

And rest they did. They slept for about six hours, but they spent at least another two or three lying there, talking intermittently, drifting in and out, making vague plans for the coming weeks, talking about how they really should just get up, and call Fortis…

Martha laid her head on his chest and marvelled at how the life and pulse of UNIT was beating around them, as the night shift would have come in by then and be well underway in its workings. Just outside that door was something of her former life that she had given up for _this_ one, and she had never been so glad of it.

At last, they stood up, feeling groggy but happy. They both still knew they had about three or four hours to go (at least) before they could be allowed to leave the Tower. A couple of days before, Mace had sent men out to manually bring the TARDIS into HQ for storage, so all they had to do was home in on it with the sonic, and they could leave. But neither one of them was in any mood to be breaking rules now, and they both reckoned they'd have to step lightly, in order to maintain the trust of UNIT. At least for a time.

The Doctor put the pieces of his brown suit back together and bent in half to adjust his tie in front of a small mirror over the sink. They had already stood the sponge mat up on its side, and moved the exam table back into place. Martha was back into her freshly-laundered clothes, and was folding up the blanket. She stacked it atop the two pillows on the exam table when the Doctor turned around, leaned against the counter and watched her.

"What?" she asked, feeling his admiring eyes on her. She stopped and looked back at him, her arms folded.

"You know," he said. "I almost suggested in the meeting on Wednesday that the Eustarus be renamed."

"Yeah? Why?"

"I thought it should be named for you," he said with a smile. "Code-named the Martha Jones Project, or something like that. The Jones Machine." Then he smiled even wider, goofily, in fact.

"That's… really lame," she laughed.

"No it's not! It's brilliant!"

She smiled. "Why for me?"

"Because, Dr. Jones," he said. " _You_ are the fail-safe."

"What?" she asked, her mouth open, but still smiling. "Are you sure you're all right? It's definitely good that they'll be scanning you again."

"Come on! Sure, that bloody box had the black hole and the hyper-gravity and all that rubbish in it but at the end of the day… _you_ are what turned me back."

"I got you into that whole mess in the first place."

He waved off the comment, and uncrossed and recrossed his feet. "Well, yeah… that could happen to anyone." He took a few moments just to look her over, and see her, almost with new eyes. He stood up straight then and took the few steps to close the space between them. "But who else could have held my hand in that cell, and guaranteed that I'd come out with at least _something_ good intact?"

She shrugged. "Well…"

"No-one, that's who. And without that," he said, then he whistled in a tone that denoted a downward trajectory. "The universe might be in some trouble, Martha. No way I would have agreed to any of this if I didn't have you."

"Well… I love you. I wasn't going to leave you. Well, I might have, but only because…"

"You did everything right. And twice you've been the fail-safe. Once in that cell, and once on Wednesday when you tried to walk away from me and I almost…" he gulped hard, as a wave of regret washed over him, for what he could have done, and almost did. He recovered himself, and said, "What Fortis and Enger and Palmer and I did in that lab was just a formality. That was just science. _You_ are the real thing, Martha Jones."

They shared a cathartic kiss then, their first since the detonation.

"Come on," he said, when it was over. "Fortis wants to film me talking about the recipe for re-making the Eustarus. They've got to forge another one now."

"Ugh," she groaned. "That's right."

"They're talking about maybe making three more of them," he said. "One for the Tower, one for the Brig in Peru, and one for you, to place as you see fit."

"Yeah, 'cause it worked out so well the last time," she joked.

With that, he sonicked the door open, took her hand, and they turned right, toward the laboratory where several hours of probes and tests waited for them. But at least they were undertaking them, and everything else from here on out, together.

 _END_

* * *

 **Again, thanks so much for reading! Please leave a review because I feed on your feedback!**

 **FYI:** **I have a plan for a new story on the horizon. It will be a in the same "universe" as this one. In fact it will pick up, I believe, literally on the same day when this story leaves off. It will be another adventure with UNIT, the Doctor and his Companion doing what they do best! I'm not sure of its title yet... I'm thinking of "The Window on the Left." I hope you'll check it out!**


End file.
